Deviance
by Jenny70529
Summary: Greg helps Sara out when she needs a friend to confide in. Complete.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own any of these characters, and suing me would be futile, because I have nothing to give. 

_Author's Note:_ Hello all! Here's a new idea that popped in my head while I was dodging (er, planning) another chapter of 'Denial'...I had to write it to get it to go away, haha...Greg/Sara bit, hope you enjoy it. It's a bit dramatic, but I'm in a dramatic mood tonight, so it fits perfectly well. I should have an update soon, if there's interest, and pending work is an okay experience for me. FYI: Never, ever, ever say "Isn't there anything I can be doing?" on a Thursday afternoon (while doing a 5000 piece puzzle with your supervisor), because if you do, Friday will have you swamped, and you'll end up pulling Saturday O/T. I hate working Saturdays. 

Replies make the world go 'round, they also make continuations appear. 

_Jenny_

**Deviance:**

Sara Sidle leaned against the bedpost, watching Greg as he lifted a footprint from the homicide they were working. "Good, now label it and hit the lights and let's check for semen." 

"No problem." Greg replied, hastily scrawling a description on the plastic and dropping it in his case as he walked towards the light switch. "What do you think happened?" 

Sara flashed him a bright smile, "Why don't you tell me what you think went down? You're getting better and better, I think you can handle it." 

"Well, I'm thinking the victim came out of the shower and into the bedroom," Greg stated, motioning towards the towel by the adjoining bathroom door, "He was probably in the closet, waiting for her to come out." He motioned towards the closet door, which was slightly open. Pausing for a moment, he continued, "He came up to her from behind, and then slit her throat, not giving her a chance to scream before it was over. That's why no neighbors heard anything unusual going on." 

"How do you explain the semen, if he killed her immediately after she came into the room?" Sara asked, gesturing towards the bed, where she had just found a semen deposit, "Anna Thomas wasn't likely to have semen in her bed, she was unmarried, didn't have a boyfriend, and worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital." 

Greg shrugged, "Maybe he had sex with her after he killed her, or maybe that's a product of masturbation. Anyway, he stays and does whatever he does, mutilates her, positions her, and then walks out the front door. We've got bloody shoe prints to back that part of the theory up." 

"Good job." Sara said with a nod. Anna's body had been found hanging upside down from the ceiling, her organs missing, blood pooling beneath her. "So now we've got an idea of what happened, we just need evidence to support your theory. Let's run through what we have...bloody footprints, a DNA sample of Anna's blood, a semen sample from the bed, possible partial print from the doorknob, and a bloody knife with no prints. I'll check the closet for any hairs or fibers, you get the chains used to hang the victim." 

"Yes mam!" Greg said with a mock-salute, earning a wide grin from Sara. He enjoyed working with her a lot more than he enjoyed working with Grissom, and it wasn't just because of the occasional glances down her shirt. She tended to let him voice his thoughts, was patient while he thought the possible scenario through, and was a lot more fun to be around. Her relaxed demeanor, as opposed to Grissom's stern and patronizing demeanor, was a welcome relief. She did make him feel the slight bit nervous, and he had found he had learned a lot more since she had been shadowing him. 

Two hours later, with no new evidence, Sara and Greg sat in an empty lab with their findings laid out in front of them. "You know the drill, first with a magnifying glass, take an extra set of pictures, then hit each one individually. I'm hoping to find some prints on that chain, anything we may have overlooked at the apartment. I'm going to see if Doc has had a chance to work on the body. Page me if you find anything, and I'll be back shortly." 

Greg nodded and got to work, silently grateful that she hadn't asked him to tag along on the autopsy. He was getting used to the blood, the gore, the stench of his new job, but something about seeing them on that cold metal table, their chests open, naked and still freaked him out. 

He remembered the first autopsy he was a part of, he was still in college and was doing a required chemistry internship at a local hospital. He had been observing, mostly, and doing unimportant errand work for many of the doctors on staff, but the senior pathologist had taken a certain liking to young Greg and asked if he wanted to take notes and be his assistant for the day. Her name was Rita Holloman, and she had been 39 years old at the time of her death. She was admitted through triage with what appeared to be appendicitis, but the autopsy findings revealed an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured a fallopian tube, causing internal bleeding, which eventually led to her death. He had been okay, knowing what was going to happen. He had taken enough required biology classes to know the procedures, he had watched plenty "real life" operation documentaries. Mentally, he knew what to expect. 

Of course, nothing turns out to be what is expected, and in fact, he was totally unprepared for the procedure. The first thing that worried him was that the corridor the morgue was in was also the corridor the cafeteria was in. Walking to the morgue to locate Dr. Swanson had been comical at first, the overhead signs reading "Cafeteria", then "Processing" (which was where most of the paperwork was taken care of), and finally "Morgue". He had stifled a laugh, thinking in his mind that he would have to bring his roommate in sometime to see this, because if you look from the exit to the main corridor, it reads "Morgue, Processing, and then Cafeteria". At least it would explain the nauseating stench coming from the cafeteria. 

His nervous giddiness turned into nervous queasiness as he pushed open the door and followed the sound of Dr. Swanson's voice, which led him into a back room, there the body was already laid out on the table. It was a lot different than the way Doc Robbins had it set up, everything was more compact, they had a much smaller space to work with, and the yellowish color of the light bulbs gave the impression that they were working in someone's basement, like in a horror flick, instead of a large hospital with real doctors. 

Dr. Swanson had handed Greg a pad and pen, and instructed him to take notes of his findings, as well as document the times of each process Swanson performed. One cut into the body, and Greg had dropped the pad and pen to vomit in the small, dirty sink. Composing himself, he returned to the body, flushed with embarrassment and afraid to meet his mentor's eyes. Dr. Swanson had been kind, telling him that it was a normal reaction, it would take several dozen, maybe more, to get used to the idea. The autopsy took nearly 2 hours, and during those two hours, Greg had vomited two more times. That day, he vowed never to be around an autopsy again. 

If only he had known what he would end up doing for a living. 

He glanced at the clock, sighing tiredly. Some nights their shift went by so fast that it seemed as if they had only worked for 15 minutes. Other nights, like this one, it seemed as if someone had stopped the clock and was getting a good laugh at their expense. It had been 45 minutes since Sara had left him processing Anna's evidence...that was another difference, Grissom would have had a conniption fit if he had heard them referring to their victim on a first name basis, but Sara did it anyway. Some may say she was getting too involved, but it was just one of her quirks, something she always did and probably would always do. It was nice to have a name to put with the case, saying they were "processing Anna's things" had a nicer quality to it than "processing our victim's possessions. Oh, which victim? The one we found gutted like a fish, hanging upside down from her ceiling, blood covering the majority of the apartment". 

He logged in all of their evidence, checking to make sure all of the evidence that needed to be brought to trace and DNA had been delivered, and then headed towards Doc's domain, looking for his partner. They still had a little over an hour left before shift was over, but they had done all they could do for now on Anna Thomas's case, that was, unless, Doc had found something they had missed. 

He had just rounded the corner near the break room when he bumped into Sara, who was standing in the hallway with a pale face and a trembling body. She had hand covering her lower abdomen, the other was supporting her weight against the wall. Her eyes met his, and she said in a frightened, almost childlike voice, "Greg? I need you to take me to the emergency room." 

"What--" Greg started to ask, his heart in his throat, his stomach in his feet. She swayed on her feet, and he reached out to steady her, surprised to feel her skin was clammy and ice cold. He wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing himself to support the majority of her weight as he led her out a side door. 

Sara shook her head, cutting off his question, "Please, don't ask any questions, just drive." 

TBC 


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything in CSI-world, but as of tonight, I'm the proud owner of a cocker spaniel puppy named "Clover". 

**Author's Notes**: I would have got this out sooner, but I ended up working through my lunch hour, finding out how puncture wounds can determine objects used to stab a person. I also learned that it's very creepy to read about a homicide in the newspaper and then see the person at work. This one goes out to Emmithar, 'cause she makes me smile and encourages me to continue even when my mind is saying 'I suck! I suck!'. Hope your burns feel better! 

I didn't get nearly as much as I wanted to achieve in this chapter completed, but there's always chapter three for that, right? 

Thanks for all of the response I got on the first chapter, hope you continue to enjoy. A little cheesy in this one, but I swear, it'll get better if you just hang in there and keep reading. 

_Jenny_

**Two:**

"I didn't even know you were--" 

Sara shook her head sadly, her hand resting over her stomach, "I hadn't told anyone yet, I actually only got past the denial and went to the doctor a few weeks ago. 17 weeks, it's late for a miscarriage, but not unheard of." 

"If we would have known, we would have gone easier on you at work, you know that, right? I'm sure Grissom would have tried to keep your stress levels down, cut back on your hours a bit. How could we not know?" Greg asked, concern evident in his voice. He was thoroughly disgusted with his investigative skills. People have symptoms when they're pregnant...moodiness, morning sickness, fatigue, achiness...he hadn't noticed any changes in the person he felt to be one of his close friends, and now it was too late. If only she hadn't worked so hard, if only she hadn't been so worked up all of the time. 

The pieces started to fall in place, one by one. She had cut back on her overtime considerably, even though she was still the first one in and the last to leave, other than Grissom. Mood swings? She had fought with Catherine, and then with Ecklie, in front of the entire lab. One day she'd be happy and friendly, the next she'd be withdrawn and angry. She hadn't put on any weight, but if she had only been 4 months along, she wouldn't necessarily be showing yet. How could he have not seen this? Sure, he had seen something was different, something had been bothering her, something was on her mind, but he had always assumed she was just being herself. It wasn't that unusual for her to be unhappy, as of late. 

Sara squeezed his hand, not even bothering to wipe away the tears falling down her cheeks, "It had nothing to do with work, Greg. I..well..it's hard to talk about." 

"You can tell me anything, I won't say a word to anyone." Greg responded with a gentle hug, "Oh, Sara, you can always tell me anything." 

Sara bit her lip, knowing she needed to get it off her chest, and figuring she at least owed Greg that much, considering he had spent the majority of the day in the hospital with her. "I'm actually not supposed to be able to have children. I guess what's why I was so convinced I wasn't pregnant and waited so long to see a doctor. When I was in college, I was living with a guy. It was pretty serious, we were even talking about getting married. In my senior year of college, I ended up pregnant, and he was so angry...jealous, really, that something was going to take my time away from him. He was one of those overprotective, overbearing types." 

"What happened?" Greg asked, seeing she was tensing up and knowing that since she didn't have a child at home, the story wasn't complete. "Did he hurt you?" 

Sara looked down at the blanket covering her legs, her hands trembling slightly, "He was okay for the first few weeks, but one night he went out with some friends and came back drunk and high. We started arguing, and he got physical, and a few hours later I had a miscarriage. I didn't go to the hospital or anything, I wasn't thinking straight, I was bruised and bloody, and I didn't want anyone to know. I found out a few years later that there was a build up of scar tissue, and it would be extremely hard for me to conceive again." 

"I don't know what to say." Greg admitted, squeezing her hand gently and trying to provide any sort of support he could. He wasn't good at these types of situations, usually he'd make a crude joke, but he could tell she wouldn't appreciate the attempt today. He also knew that anything he would say at this point would incriminate himself if this guy ever turned up missing. He hated abusers more than any other type of criminal, and knowing one of his best friends had been harmed by the hand of one infuriated him beyond belief. 

Sara shook her head, "You don't have to say anything. I was so stupid, deep down I knew I was pregnant, you can only be nauseous for so long, miss so many periods, have so many bubbling emotions before you start to do the math. I just couldn't believe it, I thought I was safe, I didn't think I'd ever get pregnant again. Apparently, the higher being realized his mistake." 

"Sara, everything happens for a reason. It's nothing you caused, it's not your lack of seeing a doctor, it's not your working habits, your sleeping habits, it's the baby. The baby wasn't forming right, something was wrong with it. Did you know that over half of miscarriages are because of some sort of abnormal development in the fetus?" Greg said firmly, "You're not stupid, the way you acted and reacted just makes you a normal human being. It's going to be okay, Sar." He whispered, giving her a gentle hug, "It's going to be okay." 

Relaxing in his embrace, the tears began to flow, and she soon found herself sobbing quietly against his chest, too upset to be embarrassed, too comforted to be ashamed. 

"What do you mean, no?" Grissom demanded, his anger apparent even over the cell phone connection, "I said we're short handed and you have to come in! It's not a choice, Greg!" 

Greg rolled his eyes, causing Sara to give him a small smile, and replied, "Gris, I told you, I'm sick. I need to stay home, I can't come in to work." 

"Sara already called in, and Sophia was in court today, so she's out of the question. I can't run a shift alone, Greg." 

Grissom was now starting sound like he was considering begging, something which Greg wouldn't be all that opposed to. He glanced at Sara, who had jotted down on a nearby notepad 'Go, I'll be okay', then sighed, "Fine, I'll be in, but I can't guarantee I'll stay." 

"I'm not saying you have to, just help me good start on these cases." Grissom said before hanging up without even a 'goodbye'. 

Greg shut his cell, helping Sara get comfortable on the couch, where she had elected to stay instead of her bed. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" 

Sara nodded, yawning tiredly, "I'll be fine, Greg. I'll probably just read a book or watch some tv. I'm really tired." 

"Are you in pain?" Greg asked, digging through a plastic pharmacy bag, "I've got your pain medication if you need it. Are you sure you don't want me to stay here?" 

"And lose your job?" Sara retorted, "The D&C wasn't open heart surgery, Greg, I can handle the evening alone. I could use some time to gather my thoughts, and I'm still so high off the drugs they gave me at the hospital that I probably won't even notice you are gone." 

Greg put her cell phone within reach and handed her the tv remote, "Call if you need anything, and no matter what I'm doing, I'll come by to help you. Seriously, Sara." He gave her a stern look, which ended in a smile, "I'll be back in the morning, okay?" 

Sara nodded, shutting her eyes and leaning back against the cushions, yawning widely. She wasn't lying, the anaesthetic they had given her still had her feeling woozy, and while she wasn't feeling much physical pain, she still felt her emotional scars healing. She was afraid she was going to break down, she wasn't sure when, but she was definitely sure she did not want Greg there to witness it. 

He had really surprised her, staying with her at the hospital, asking the doctor countless questions about the miscarriage, the d & c, the healing process. He had fussed over her and babied her, which normally she loathed, but today she needed, and he was even willing to miss work for her. Two years ago, she would never have thought Greg Sanders could be so mature, but now, he was constantly surprising her. 

Is hadn't been easy to tell Greg about her previous miscarriage, she had never told anyone before, and it was never easy for her to open up to anyone. He deserved to know, though, he had spent the entire day with her, he held her hand and gave her the support she needed, and not once did he push her to tell him anything. She was surprised to realize she actually felt better after getting everything off of her chest, and she could almost _feel_ the connection between them growing stronger. 

She hadn't thought about her 'previous' life in awhile, she tried to avoid everything before Las Vegas as much as possible. Needless to say, she had a rough childhood, lasting right up into her young adult years. The abuse as a child, her father's death, her mother's arrest, moving across the country to school, only to end up right in the middle of an abusive relationship, losing the baby, winding up alone again, and moving back to California, just to be lonely and miserable...she tried to forget as much of her past as humanly possible. 

She had been 17 weeks pregnant. So many signs had told her she was with child, but she hadn't listened to a single one. Deep down, she knew two days before her period was due, because she was accustomed to the mood swings and anger flashes of pms, along with the dull aching of menstrual cramps, and had immediately noticed when they didn't come as scheduled. That time, she had chalked it up to divine intervention, a blessing straight out of the heavens, mother nature finally giving her a break from the torture of womanhood. 

Not too long after the missed period, she had started getting edgier, more emotional, locking herself in the bathroom to cry during stressful cases, going home and sleeping three times as long as she had in the past. She blew up at Catherine over a case, got an attitude with Ecklie that nearly lost her the job she had worked so hard to keep. The first major clue was that she didn't care. All of the hard work she had done, the cases she had poured herself into didn't matter anymore, and she found herself indifferent about keeping or losing her job. 

She had thought it was the beginnings of depression, probably from the alcohol, so she cut back on the beer she had been using as a relaxation method, and instead took up jogging. This lasted less than a week, when she found she'd rather sleep than jog. Again, she assumed it was mild depression and it would pass. 

Then she missed her second period, and had developed a new routine of throwing up every evening when she awoke. It got to the point where she had to avoid the break room at work because the smell of coffee and the various food that had been microwaved each day had her running for the bathroom. Now she assumed it was stress, which was known to do crazy things to a body, and she tried to cut back on her hours, find other interests. She began hanging out with Nick and Warrick when she was off for the night, and she tried to find something to ease the tension in her life. 

When she missed her third period, she knew she was in trouble. The nausea had stopped, the extreme fatigue had vanished, but now she felt like she was walking in a fog. She'd leave Grissom's office with a task in mind, but halfway down the hall she'd forget where she was going. She locked her keys in her car twice, she was late for work 4 times in one week, and to top it off, she was halfway to work one evening when she realized she wasn't even wearing shoes. Thinking of all of the things she had been afflicted with, it wasn't hard to come to the conclusion that she was pregnant. 

A home pregnancy test confirmed the suspicion, and a blood test a week and a half later (which was how long it took to work up the courage to call for an appointment) confirmed the confirmation. Sara Sidle, was in fact, with child. An ultrasound showed a strong heartbeat, a slightly larger than normal (slightly over a pound in weight, which was the average size of a 21 week fetus), yet seemingly healthy fetus. She was seen by the doctor, given some vitamins and iron supplements, and was due back for a checkup the following week. 

She was actually planning on telling Grissom this shift that she was pregnant. Since her already aching back was making it difficult to do some of her required tasks in the field, she was going to ask not to be put solo until the baby had been born. Now, he'd never have to know. Suddenly, everything was different. 

Sara had never been a big fan of change, and just when she had gotten used to her new addition, it was torn away from her without her even being aware what was happening until it was too late. 

Alone in her dark apartment, Sara began to sob, drawing her knees to her chest, despite the stabs of pain that created in her sensitive areas, grieving for the loss of another child, and perhaps still for the loss of the first. She hadn't even wanted children, so why was this hurting so badly? Thoughts and memories flooded her mind, going from this pregnancy back to Grissom, Hank, the team splitting up, the lab explosion, all the way back to the cold shoulder she had received upon entering the Vegas crime lab. Finally releasing years of pent up anger and sorrow, she sobbed until her chest hurt from the lack of oxygen, until her mind was dizzy and her eyes hurt from producing so many tears. The feeling she hated most of all? Feeling so helpless and out of control as her carefully constructed wall around her mind began to crumble. 

_TBC_


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, but I'd love to be able to claim the brilliance behind their creation.

**Author's Notes:** Another installment, sort of dark, sort of sad...I wasn't in the mood to write happy, so it was either sad or nothing. This won't be a long story, I'm thinking only 2 or 3 installments past this, maybe 4...

I am too tired to even proofread, so please excuse any mistakes. I stayed up late last night doing the "Relay for Life" Walk-a-thon to support the American Cancer Society, which was from 6 pm to 6 am. Excluding events and such, my pedometer shows I walked 17 miles...after that was over, I was dragged to see _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ with some coworkers of mine. No offense to anyone who went to see it, because I actually enjoyed it, but it was sort of funny to know that when you stood in line at the ticket booth, it was obvious who was going to see it (besides the people bringing towels) because it was just...for lack of a better phrase...a geek-fest. Of course, I'm a geek and I know it, so it just put me in my place. As much as I protested going to see it, because I had never read the books or anything, I thought it was so funny and I nearly wet my pants laughing from the opening credits all the way to the end.

I ramble when I'm sleepy, I should go to bed...

Please reply, I hope you enjoy, and replies always encourage me to write more, and quicker...

_Jenny_

**Three:**

Greg anxiously watched the clock, partly eager to get back to Sara, and partly wanting to look anywhere but the body laid out in front of him, blood cleaned off, but still opened up widely, Anna Thomas's eyes staring coldly back at him. Doc Robbins was explaining the difference between disemboweling for the sake of disemboweling and removing organs for sale in various underground and black markets, but Greg wasn't paying any attention to the older man.

After learning that Anna's organs had been removed for reasons other than wholesale, Greg wasn't too interested in the rest of the facts. All he cared about was the 2 hours until his shift ended and he could get back to his friend, who happened to need him much more than the dead end case they were working on.

A loud beep and sudden buzzing on his hip caused Greg to jump, grabbing his pager and looking at the message with a scowl. Giving a quick thanks to Dr. Robbins, Greg sprinted out of the room, stripping off his scrubs on the way out and jogging down the hall to Grissom's office.

"You paged?" Greg panted, not happy by the serious look in Grissom's eye. A Grissom this serious at 6:00 in the morning could only mean 2 things; either they had another case or he missed something on the current one. It turned out, however, to be both.

Grissom handed Greg a stack of folders, "14 women, 14 years, same MO. Washington State, 1991, Janice Blake. Found hanging from the rafters of her beachfront home. Unmarried with no living relatives. Neighbor noticed the smell and called the police. Oregon, 1992, Marion Stevens. Idaho, 1993, Gina Rogers. Montana, 1994, Cassandra Peterson. Wyoming, 1995, Mary Whitman. Utah, 1996, Ivy Belmont. California, 1997, Kelly Bertrand. Arizona, 1998, Rita Morgan. New Mexico, 1999, Tammy Vidrine. Colorado, 2000, Ginger Young. Texas, Paula Bowen, 2001. Oklahoma, Katrina James, 2002. Kansas, Joan Freeman, 2003. Nebraska, Elizabeth Lennon, 2004."

He tapped to the folder sitting on his desk, "Nevada, Anna Thomas, 2005. What do these young ladies all have in common?"

"Just a broad view? All between the ages of 20 and 30, all unmarried, no children, no boyfriend, no immediately family...at least that is on this side of the country... and working full-time jobs." Greg commented, flipping to the information sheet on each folder. "Just like our vic."

Grissom nodded, "Very well, Greg. Not only were they working full time jobs, they were working overtime that would put Sara to shame, they all had jobs that would put them meeting a variety of people. Washington, California, Texas, New Mexico, and Kansas were nurses. Nebraska, Wyoming, and Oklahoma were police officers. Oregon, Utah, Arizona, and Colorado were rangers at national parks, as well as tour guides for various tourism hot spots. Idaho and Montana worked at truck stops along the interstates. Our vic was a nurse as well, and I have her employment history..she's worked over 100 hours last week, and that was the slowest of her weeks in the last 4 months."

"She fits the profile, what do we know about the killer? Any suspects?"

Grissom shook his head, "Not a clue. There was enough evidence collected in each murder to match the DNA, the same person is killing these women, but there's no hit in CODIS. We're still running the samples you and Sara collected last night. Start reviewing these files and see if you can come up with something. I'm going to get a list of patients our vic tended to for the last month. Brass dropped off phone records and bank statements, I've left them with Sophia."

Grissom hurried off in the opposite direction, and Greg made his way to an empty lab, dropping the folders on the table and sitting down with a loud sigh. His supervisor's tone had implied he was to finish this before going home, and since he wasn't one to make waves, he started educating himself on the past victims.

* * *

Sara laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling and trying to clear her mind. She was failing miserably. The longer she tried to calm herself down and pull herself out of the darkness she often teetered on the edge of, the harder she felt that invisible black force draw her in. The apartment was silent, even the neighbors and the hallways were silent, and with the curtains drawn and the lights off, it was nice and dark, her dark furniture adding to the ambiance of the room, which perfectly matched her mood.

She rose to a sitting position, moaning several curse words as she remembered the tenderness in her lower abdomen, and as she rose to her feet, a wave of dizziness washed over her, causing her to brace herself against the couch, shutting her eyes and trying to maintain her balance. After the dizziness had cleared, she painfully walked to her kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinet next to the fridge, pulling out several medicine bottles until she found the ones she wanted.

Wellbutrin, which had been prescribed to her after seeing a therapist over the Pamela Alder case, sat in the back of the cabinet, only 1 missing from the 30 day prescription. Paxil had been prescribed after the lab explosion, when she was having mild anxiety attacks every so often, was in the front, 4 of the 60 pills missing, but she had stopped taking those when she started using alcohol to help her relax. Various other medications ranging from a half-completed prescription of antibiotics to prescription headache medicine were tossed in the cabinet, most well past their expiration date.

She hated to take medication, especially the anti-depressants, although she knew very well she needed them. She had a severe problem with depression when she had been a teenager, after her mother had killed her father, and had been put on many different types of anti-depressants, none of which made a difference in any way that counted. Sure, maybe they helped her feel a little better, but the most they did was keep her alive, not happy.

She had moved to Boston to go to Harvard, leaving her mental instability in California, or so she had thought. After her first miscarriage, she had gotten back on anti-depressants after a long bout with depression, which the doctor had classified as moderate, but Sara insisted was mild compared to her problems back in California. After school finished, she stopped taking them with the exception of the two prescriptions she had filled in Las Vegas.

She had left the hospital with a prescription for Zoloft, since depression was "common" after a miscarriage, and Greg had filled it on their way home, it was sitting on her coffee table along with the antibiotics that were supposed to stop any infection that could develop as a miscarriage complication.

Complications. Infections, in Sara's book, were not complications. Miscarriages were complications, pregnancies were complications, half of her life was a complication. Things were always being dangled in front of her and then jerked away, as if it were life's cruel way of picking on her.

She moves to Las Vegas to start a fresh career with one person she thought she'd be always able to trust. He stands to close to her, makes her feel special, treats her like an equal. Complication? She asks him to eat dinner with her and he turns her down. Not just turned her down, but did it in the most insulting tone of voice with the most insulting mannerisms. And after turning her down, has barely been able to be her friend.

She starts dating, finds a guy she thinks is wonderful. He's a paramedic, which is a bonus, because sometimes she gets to see him during working hours. Complication? He's already dating someone else.

She has a nearly perfect working record, a high solve rate, a wonderful job working for a highly rated crime lab. Complication? The cases she really wants to solve, including the Pamela Alder case, Eddie Willows, and many more that she came so close to solving, all remained unsolved. Sure, in some cases the suspects may be in jail, not for murder, but in jail, and sure, in some cases she may know who did it, but is unable to fully prove it. Not only does she have these "incomplete" cases weighing her down, a chance at a promotion comes along and another coworker gets it because "he doesn't want it". She got so involved in job that she was "so good at" that she was unable to sleep properly, eat properly, function properly. If that wasn't irony at it's greatest, she didn't know what was.

And now, she gets pregnant for someone who she knows would probably make a decent father, she finally gets up the nerve to tell him, and she's just trying to get an opportunity to break the news. She's actually getting excited about the life growing inside of her, the longer the news sinks in. Complication? She'll never get to bring that baby home. When most women are planning their nursery, counting down the days until their ultrasound to find out if that nursery should be pink or blue, she was having to say goodbye to the small being that had occupied her uterus for 17 short weeks.

It was a small miracle that she hadn't been put in a psych ward when she was growing up, having to deal with so much and barely being able to cope, and a slightly bigger miracle when she finished college without a complete nervous breakdown. Sure, she had come close several times, but never went over the edge. The true shock was that she had been pulled in so many directions since moving to Vegas and she had still managed to keep herself together, still hadn't had that nervous breakdown yet. She was now just waiting for the other shoe to drop. She had no proof, nothing solid to tell her, but she knew that this would be the last straw, the straw that broke the camel's back.

She could feel the bottom dropping out, she could feel the panic and hysteria in her chest, fighting to bubble to the surface, the blackness surrounding her and fighting to take over her body, the anger, guilt, grief, hurt she had been bottling up for so many years rising to the surface and threatening to explode. She couldn't let that happen, because if she went off the deep end now, she knew there would be no coming back.

Any rash action taken by Sara at this point would be the signature on her pink slip. She knew Grissom had his ass on the line by allowing her to keep her job, she knew that everyone at work thought she was losing it, and she was certain that showing mental instability would be enough to force Grissom to fire her, and if not Grissom, then Ecklie. Her job was her life, if she lost her job, she'd lose the sole reason she got out of bed in the morning. If she lost that, she was worried to see what would happen next.

She put the pill containers back in the cabinet, knowing nothing in any of those bottles would help her feel any different than she already felt. The emotional pain she carried felt as if someone had placed a heavy weight on her chest, causing her to struggle to breathe, to move, to function in any way. And with every day that past and every new obstacle that was thrown in her direction, that weight grew heavier and heavier, and would continue to until that one day when it finally just crushed her.

Sara was growing more and more confident that "finally" would be happening sooner rather than later.

Her hand rested on the bottle of sleeping pills, which was the prescription that had been used the most out of everything she owned, including simple aspirin, and she knew that it would be the only way she'd sleep today. Shaking her head sadly, she pushed them back into the counter, along with everything else, knowing she couldn't trust herself to open the bottle. To take one would be an invitation to take two, then three, and so on until the 13 remaining pills, and the 3 month prescription refill that still remained unopened, were gone. She couldn't tempt herself with the 'easy way out', she had to fight.

Didn't everyone always tell her how strong she was? Didn't everyone always say she was a fighter? Tough? Independent? She wasn't going to give in now, as long as there was fight left in her, she could keep herself on the edge. She may not have the strength to move higher up than the brink of instability, but she did have the strength to keep her teetering on the edge. She could fight it, she could win...if only she could remember to say it often enough to convince herself.

* * *

Greg looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of him, surprised to see it was nearing the end of dayshift. If he had any desire to go home and get a nap before getting back in, he'd have to go now or never. Organizing his files and gathering his empty coffee cups, he began to save his project, knowing it would still be waiting on him in a few short hours.

He bumped in to Sophia in the hallway, and she looked as tired as he felt. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, "I'm going home, I can't even uncross my eyes. I'm just waiting time by trying right now."

"I can definitely agree with you on that one." Greg said with a sleepy nod, following her into the locker room, "Grissom still around?"

Sophia nodded, "I don't think he's going to even try and go home today. I don't know when he sleeps, all I know is that unless he will approve me pulling out a pillow and blanket in the break room, I've got to get to my bed."

"You don't know how tempted I am to just curl up in my backseat." Greg said, only half-joking. He would have actually considered it if he hadn't wanted to go check on Sara before heading home. Even though he was stumbling around like a zombie, in a fog from lack of sleep, he didn't want to blow her off, he had to see for himself that she was really okay.

Greg and Sophia went their separate ways, and as Greg pulled into Sara's apartment complex, a smile spread across his face and he backed out again, going a few blocks over until he reached a small shopping center. Half an hour later, he was pulling back into her apartment complex, a white teddy bear holding a small purple balloon (labeled 'Thinking of you', because he didn't want to make her sad by getting the one that said 'Get Well Soon') and a bouquet of sunflowers resting on his front seat. It wasn't much, but he hoped for a smile, at least.

He wasn't too sure how to handle the situation, he was never really good at helping people out who were going through emotional pain like this, but he wanted to let her know he cared and that he was, in fact, keeping her in his thoughts. Hopefully she'd keep opening up to him, because he had found that in the evening he had spent with Sara, he had learned more about her than he had since she came to Las Vegas, and it left him wanting to know everything there was to know about Sara Sidle.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, as usual. One day, though, if I'm lucky, I'll save enough to be able to take over CBS...

**Author's Notes:** This is a short chapter, but I think it was necessary to show the point Sara's at, that way when I start the next chain-of-events, it will flow smoother. For some reason this always seems to flow better after a really bad day at work, and since today was good (not surprising since I got to assist on a decomp earlier this week, which was NOT fun at all, making anything an improvement) I found it difficult to get into that _dark_ place that I need to be in to write this...I'm babbling, I need to stop that...

Hope you enjoy...Please let me know what you're thinking...

_Jenny_

**Four:**

Sara slid the lock on her door to the horizontal position, resting her head against the door as she let go of the knob, her body sore and exhausted. Greg's visit had been short, he had brought her an adorable bear and a beautiful arrangement of flowers, but knowing that he came out of his way after being so exhausted and working so hard, just to check on her, made her feel alive inside.

Her thoughts had been grim when he had shown up and she hadn't been in the mood to visit, which she had subtlety made clear to Greg, but now that he was gone, she felt more horrid than she had before. She walked back to the couch, carefully sitting down as she tried to find a position that helped her forget about the aching in her abdomen and the reason behind it.

Giving in to the nagging voice inside of her head, which had been telling her she was too close to teetering off into the deep end, she popped open the bottle of Zoloft. She took one pill out, swallowing it dry, and while she knew it wouldn't fix the gaping hole of sorrow in her chest, she desperately hoped it would at least take the edge off enough for her to remember how to shut off her emotions and move on with her life.

She hated herself for feeling so out of control. She prided herself on being in total control of her entire life, and now she was at the mercy of her hormone-induced highly-emotional mood swings. The tears were going to come again, and she was angry that they were. More than anything, she wanted to shut everything off, find the 'system shut down' button for her mind and short-circuit everything that involved feeling. She longed to be detached, to have the self-control to feel only the things she wanted to feel, to separate herself from the pain and the grief. Instead, she was dangling by her feet in a bay of guilt, anger, sorrow, and misery. Any of those were strong enough weapons to take down Sara Sidle once and for all.

The ringing of her cell phone enabled her to build up her tough facade, and by the time she answered, the quiver of tears was almost completely gone from her voice. "Sidle."

"_Sara, it's Grissom."_ Pause. _"How are you feeling?"_

Sara stifled a groan. She had hoped it wouldn't be Greg, because she didn't think she would be able to hide the pain from him, but even more she had hoped it wouldn't be Grissom, because she didn't _want_ to hide the pain from him. She knew he was a good listener, but she wasn't in the mood for pity or questions, not even a simple caring gesture such as a hand to hold on to.

How was she feeling? Angry, depressed, lonely, wounded. Could she give him that answer? No.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she had confided in him once before, not too long ago. Looking back, she had been upset that while she relived her past, he had only offered his hand in support. At the time, it was the only thing keeping her linked to the present, the only thing holding her back from plunging into darkness.

She really couldn't face any more sadness, any more loss. She had taken all of the beatings life had offered her so far, and she was too exhausted to continue to fight the losing battle with the anxiety pounding through her veins.

Why wasn't that damn medication working yet?

"I'm doing better, Gris." Sara managed to reply, hating to lie, but not wanting to give him the details on what happened. She wasn't sure she'd even be able to speak the words.

There was a moment of hesitation, and when Grissom spoke again, she could tell by his voice that he felt guilty for calling when he thought she was home sick. Of course, she was sick, at least mentally. Physically, she was afflicted. She couldn't say sick, because it wasn't an illness. She couldn't say injured, because she hadn't had an accident. Yet. Afflicted seemed to sum it up nicely, despite the sickening feeling she had when she realized she was now manipulating words to cover up what was going on inside of her. Why did it make her feel so warped?

"_I'm sorry to bother you, and I don't want to pressure you, but I've got a hot case. Catherine was only able to spare Warrick, and she called me in to assist. We could really use a third pair of eyes, and Greg and Sophia have only been off for a few hours, so I was hoping you'd feel up to a fresh case. If you aren't feeling up to it, though, I completely understand."_

Sara was certain he had only called her because she'd be the only one willing to work. Usually, she was. Today, however, she wasn't sure she'd be able to move around the scene, much less focus on the evidence. Was it fair to Grissom to work to half of her ability when he could call in someone who could give it their best shot?

Even though she knew her work wouldn't be up to par, and even though the doctor had told her to rest for 48 to 72 hours, she was contemplating going to the scene. She wasn't oblivious to the fact that she was hanging on to the edge of sanity, and she was fairly certain that work would be enough of a distraction to channel some of her anger and depression into something productive. If nothing else, she'd be so exhausted when she got off of work that she wouldn't have to tempt fate with the sleeping pills.

"I think I can handle it. I need to shower and dress, though." Sara said, apprehension building as she wondered if she was making the right decision.

Sure, she was still sore, but wouldn't getting back into her normal routine help her heal quicker, mentally, at least? And if she wasn't able to go in, she knew he'd call Greg, and the poor guy had just gotten home, it wouldn't be fair to him for her to turn down Grissom and cause him to have another day without sleep, especially since he had spent so much time taking care of her. She could handle it, after all, she'd been through a lot worse before. What was the worst that could happen?

She jotted down the address and walked into her bathroom, wincing slightly in pain as she undressed and stepped into the shower, the warm water only barely soothing her tender body. After quickly washing the essential parts, she carefully dressed in a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved grey shirt. As she slid on her socks, she realized just how sore she was. She tied her shoelaces and walked into the kitchen, taking half of a demerol pill and drinking a glass of water. She wouldn't be able to function without something to control the pain, hopefully, she'd be able to function even with the pain medication in her system. Hopefully, the half-dose would keep her focused enough to get her job done, while taking the edge of the physical pain, just as the zoloft took the edge of the mental.

Half an hour later she arrived at the crime scene, her lower body aching miserably with each push of the pedals the drive required, her face paling visibly as she got out of her vehicle, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing, or even crying out, in pain. She didn't remember hurting this badly after her first miscarriage, and she briefly wondered if something was wrong. Seeing Warrick and Grissom talking to a detective (that she didn't recognize) she decided 'what-if's' would have to wait. She had a job to do.

"Sorry it took so long." Sara said as she walked up to Warrick and Grissom, taking the place of the detective who was walking away, "What do we have?"

She hoped the cheeriness in her voice didn't sound as fake to them as it did to herself. Seeing the brief look of concern pass through Grissom's eyes, and the lasting one on Warrick's, she knew she hadn't been able to pull off a cheery mood.

Luckily, they didn't voice their concerns, and Sara made a point not to allow the subject to come up. Again, she asked what sort of situation they had.

"It was reported as a murder/suicide, but I called for reinforcements once I found that the gun found next to the body didn't even closely match the type I found in the sofa." Warrick said, motioning to the blood-stained sofa. "So now it looks like a double homicide with a weak attempt at a cover up."

Sara nodded, surveying the room though the light fog that was starting to settle over her brain, distracting her from her normal skills at spotting possibly clues. Grissom had moved over to the bodies, and as Sara studied the deceased couple, she found herself glad she hadn't eaten since coming home from the hospital. The female had been shot through the head, blood spatter and brain matter covering the wooden floor in a sea of red. Upon closer observation, Sara was able to see there were three more bullet holes in the chest. The male was sitting against the sofa, his eyes open and still, his shirt soaked in dark red blood.

Looking away from the bodies and towards Grissom, she said softly, "I'll check the perimeter."

"I'll walk out with you." Warrick said, shaking his head at Grissom's questioning glance.

Sara could feel Warrick's eyes on her as she carefully walked out of the house, slower than her normal pace, and although she was touched by his concern, she was worried he'd start asking questions. She decided to cut him off before giving him a chance, "I'm fine, Warrick."

"You're shaking." Warrick pointed out, watching as her body trembled slightly. The concerned look on his face intensified as he realized she hadn't even noticed the shaking. "Are you sure you're feeling up to working?"

Sara shrugged, "It's better than staying at home, alone, and wallowing in self-pity."

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Warrick said gently, placing his hand on her shoulder, "We're still friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are. I'm just down, that's all. Don't worry about it, we all get down sometimes." Sara said softly, squeezing his hand with a soft smile. She was grateful for his concern, and it was nice to know she still had an ally, even if they weren't working together anymore. She might have opened up to him, if they weren't standing in a victim's yard, on the clock.

Then again, she wasn't even comfortable talking to Greg about what had happened, and he had been there through the whole thing, she trusted him more than anyone else in her life at the moment.

Seeing Warrick still wasn't convinced, she flashed him what she hoped was a genuine-looking smile, "Really Warrick, I'll be okay. Work helps, really, it does."

"If you say so." Warrick relented, although he didn't sound completely convinced. "We'll be inside if you need anything."

As Sara was left alone in the back yard to look for evidence, she couldn't help but wish she had stayed home, where she could cry in peace. Everything was starting to overwhelm her again, leaving her feeling like she was suffocating in her own misery, unable to reach the top of the darkness surrounding her to escape.

She started to search faster for any clues as to what had happened, knowing that she was going to break, and wanting to be at home, away from everyone she was afraid of disappointing when it happened. Pushing harder through the pain that was now searing through her abdomen, she forced herself to be tough and take it, anything to get her away from the crime scene as soon as possible.

She wasn't willing to let the others see that Sara Sidle, was in fact, destructible. She wasn't going to have them worry over her and her sanity, she wasn't going to have prying questions and uninvited guests. She would simply take the night off and wait for this pain and turmoil to pass. When it did, whether it be tonight, tomorrow, the next day, or even next week, she'd pick up the pieces and rearrange the puzzle, coming up with some story to explain her actions, anything but the truth.

No one could know that she was losing it, no one.

_TBC, but only if you let me know you want it..._


	5. Chapter Five

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them, but I'm willing to treat them out to dinner if they're interested.

_Author's Notes:_ This is a little longer than I had planned on it being, but once I got into the mood to write, I just couldn't stop. Hope it makes sense, please leave a reply on your way out. On with the story, usually I babble, but tonight I have a _date_. I was supposed to meet him earlier, but work interfered, and he called at the last minute to ask if I wanted to go Cajun Dancing with him. I haven't been dancing in **years**. Since he's going to be here any minute now, I'm cutting it short.

I got a question as to what I do for a living, and I'll sum it up quickly. I'm an assistant to the medical examiner in the 'Parish Medical Examiner's Office and Forensic Research Center'. I'm also in college, majoring in Chemistry and Criminal Justice, but I'm supposed to graduate at the end of this summer, and I'm going to apply for a 'Crime Scene Technician' with the Harris County PD this fall. I actually have the application filled out completely, I'm just waiting for the degree to back it up.

_Jenny_

**Five: **

Sara had long ago decided not to answer the knocking on her front door. She had collected evidence at the scene as quickly as possible, going home as Warrick and Grissom headed back to the lab, telling Grissom she wasn't feeling well enough to work.

Boy, was that the truth. Her stomach was killing her, a burning sensation rising from the top of her legs to her chest, even up her spine. She had been so relieved to collapse on her couch, she wouldn't have gotten up to answer the door even if she wanted to see whoever was on the other side.

She didn't want to see anyone, it could be the Queen of England for all she was concerned, she wasn't moving from this spot until she eventually starved to death. Her mind began to drift away from the knocking as she reasoned with herself. She would dehydrate and shrivel up before she'd actually starve to death. 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food.

Her name being shouted through the wood brought her back to reality, and she groaned softly, pulling a pillow over her face. She wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, she wanted to wallow in misery alone, despite the old saying that 'misery loves company'. This miserable girl wanted to keep it all to herself. Everyone should be working. Greg and Sophia were on tonight, and there was no way Warrick had finished his case with Grissom. That left Nick and Catherine, but they had obviously been too busy to assist Warrick, so chances are they were tied up at the lab as well.

It wasn't as if either of them would stop in to check on her anyway. Sure, she and Nick were friends, but there was no way for him to know she was sick. It wasn't as if they worked together and he noticed she didn't show up for work, and it wasn't something that would come up in a normal conversation, so she ruled him out as the unwanted guest. Catherine would probably have to be tied up and forced a gunpoint before she'd show up for a visit, there had been no love lost between the two for some time now.

The knocking continued, and Sara let out an angry sigh as she tossed her pillow against the wall, she wasn't going to get up. She wanted to be alone, she had the right to be alone. Hadn't she been through enough? Couldn't she get just five minutes of peace? She couldn't let anyone see her on the verge of a nervous breakdown, that would be the downfall of her career.

She wanted to scream several curse words as the phone began to ring. After two rings, the answering machine picked up, with the familiar, _You've reached Sara Sidle. Sorry I'm not available to take your call right now, please leave your name and number and I'll call you back._

Moments later, an all too familiar voice filled the apartment, _"Sara, it's Greg, I know you're home. Please open the door, we need to talk. Gris told me that you bolted from a scene earlier, and I just want to make sure you're okay. Since you're not answering, I'm going to assume you're not, and if you don't open the door soon, I'll call 911."_

Sara rolled her eyes, pulling herself tiredly off the couch, her body feeling like it was floating 3 feet above the ground, causing her to bump into nearly everything she came close to. She slid open the lock, nearly falling into Greg's arms, and causing him to protectively wrap an arm around her, leading her back inside.

"You okay?" Greg asked, obviously concerned, "Do you want me to take you to the doctor?"

Sara could feel the irritation boiling through her veins, accompanied by a sudden burst of anger. She knew she didn't have a reason to be so feel upset with Greg, he was just trying to help, but she couldn't help the way she felt. She probably needed a few more of the "happy pills" her doctor had prescribed her, because the one she took wasn't taking the edge off.

She could feel the worry on his face, and deep down she knew it should make her feel guilty and she should reassure him that she was just tired, cranky, and sore, but she had no desire to make things any easier for anyone else. After all, when the world was against you, why should you make anyone else's any less painful than your own? Should you have to suffer alone? No. Everyone should have to suffer.

She knew that wasn't fair either, but still didn't really care. Life wasn't fair. Death wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. And with that in mind, how could you define fair? What seems fair for one may be horribly cruel or unjust for another. When people talk about fairness, they only are speaking from their side, their point-of-view. For instance, right now Sara thought it would be fair for everyone to feel the aching loss and heartache that she was feeling, but to anyone else, that wouldn't be fair. Fairness was just one of those objective feelings that no one could control or justify, a weaker person's way of complaining and excusing whatever behavior they were trying to get away with or condone.

He was still looking at her, so she decided she should answer his question, just to be fair. No, not fair, to be polite. Not that she cared about that much, either, but one day she may snap out of this funk, and she needed to be able to get along with at least one person when that day came.

"I don't need a doctor, Greg." She wasn't able to keep the irritation out of her voice, although she had tried to make herself sound sincere.

Now that she had caused the hurt look to cross his face by practically biting his head off, she no longer felt the need to be polite. The damage was done, it didn't matter what was said next.

"Could you just go away? I'll be fine." Her voice was cold, but she made no move to hide the bitterness in it. Her anger was rapidly melting away, guilt taking it's place with a vengeance. That hurt look wasn't going away from him, and he was just trying to be a good friend and check on her. He hadn't meant any harm, and she knew that. She sank back onto the couch, knowing she was losing control over herself and her feelings as the anger and guilt battled each other, causing her head to ache and her eyes to water. She wasn't going to cry in front of him, she'd cried enough. She just needed to get a grip on herself, she could hold it together a few more minutes.

Greg watched her closely, trying not to let her tone of voice sting him, but failing miserably. He couldn't even imagine to know how she felt, but he knew it had to hurt, and he knew Sara well enough to know that when she was hurting, she pushed people away. He had news for her, he wasn't scared off so easily.

Her voice snapped again, bringing him back to reality, "Greg, I told you I'm fine. Don't you have somewhere to be? A job to do? I don't need a babysitter. I am fine."

He knew that was a lie. He knew she wasn't fine, although she was putting up a tremendous effort to convince him that she was. Maybe, to someone who didn't know what she had been through, who didn't know her as well as he had come to know her since shifts had been split up, would think she was fine, but he knew her, and he could detect the anxiety in her eyes, even though it was barely traceable.

His grandmother had once told him that eyes were the window into someone's body, to their soul. You could see how they were feeling, you could determine their health, you could determine the struggles they had went through during their years. As a child, he had told her she was crazy, although not in those terms, but through the years he could see what she had meant.

Looking into Sara's eyes he saw raw pain, extreme fatigue, and a look of panic that came and went every few minutes, as if she was playing a mental tennis match, trying to decide if she was going to remain calm or collapse on the floor in sobs. He really hoped, for his sake, that she remained calm, although he knew that crying would probably be therapeutic to her right now.

He had never been good at handling people who were falling apart, and he didn't want to stick his foot in his mouth (or down his throat, for that matter) when it was his closest friend who was in need of a shoulder to cry on. When it came to Sara, he knew how to handle most situations. When she was angry, it was helpful to let her vent. When she was frustrated, it was best to leave her alone and let her handle her problems. When a case was getting to her, coffee and a friendly ear were better tolerated than lectures and comments on separating emotions from work. He knew that her work was her life, therefore she couldn't separate the emotion from it.

He had never had to deal with a depressed Sara. Sure, she had been sad on occasion, but at that time he had been able to make her smile by telling jokes or just talking her out of her blue mood. This, he knew, would be much harder. It would probably be not only harder, but more painful for him, because Sara wasn't one to accept help easily and she definitely wasn't one to go down without a fight.

Therefore, he muttered a quiet prayer before saying in what he hoped was a caring, not condescending voice, "Sara, don't lie to me. I know you're not fine, you can be honest with me."

"I said, I was fine." Sara snapped again, trying to think of the right thing to say that would cause him to leave so she could continue her nervous breakdown in solitude. "Don't you have something you need to be doing?"

Greg decided to go ahead and play her game for awhile, to see if he could talk the truth out of her using other techniques besides a heart-to-heart. It wasn't exactly like they were 17, heart-to-heart conversations weren't protocol at this point in their lives. "No new cases, Sophia and I are at a dead end with Anna Thomas, and until we hear back from the other states who have similar cases, our hands are tied."

He couldn't help but add, "Gris and Warrick are worried about you, they said you assisted them on a case earlier this afternoon, and you seemed out of it."

"It's none of their damn business, they have no right to be worried about me." Sara snapped, "I was sore, I told Grissom I wasn't feeling well. That doesn't make me 'out of it'. That makes me human. Last time I checked, that was allowed, is it not?"

Greg held up his hands, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. And they care about you, they just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"How can you expect me to be okay?" Sara asked, her voice shaking slightly. She hoped and prayed that Greg didn't hear the shaking, though, because she wanted him to disappear, and if she started bawling like a baby, he'd probably stay the night. That was the only problem with your best friend being a 'good guy'. 'Good guys' never seemed to know when they should leave. They never seemed to get the hint.

Greg shook his head, watching as she started to tremble. He didn't have to see the tears in her eyes to know she was about to cry, he could hear it in her voice. He said gently, "Hey, I don't expect you to be okay. Grissom and Warrick don't know. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell them anything. I just want to help you Sara."

"Then you need to go away. I need to be alone." Sara said firmly, closing her eyes and clenching her fists, "Please, Greg, trust me."

Greg stood with a sigh, not wanting to leave, but knowing that if she had decided this conversation was over, she wouldn't divulge any more information to him. He was lucky he had gotten this far, if her attitude upon his arrival was any indication of her current mood. Anger, he supposed, was easier than sadness. When you're angry, you can pass the blame, you can beat on your pillows, you can scream and cry. When you're sad, all you _can_ do is cry.

He motioned for her to sit as she made a move to walk him out, and he took her hands into his, forcing her to open her eyes. His heart broke as he saw the tears filling her already red-rimmed eyes, and he squeezed her hands gently, keeping their gazes locked, "When you want to talk, if you want to talk, you know where to find me. If you need anything at all, anything, call me up and I'll drop everything to get here. I don't care if it's the middle of shift, if it's noon, if it's 6 next Tuesday, just promise me that when you need someone, you'll remember me. You don't have to do this alone, Sara."

"I..I know." Sara murmured, giving his hands a tight squeeze and shutting her eyes again as he let himself out.

As she was left alone, once more, she couldn't get Greg's voice out of her mind. She knew that right now she wouldn't be able to call him, she wasn't ready to let anyone into her personal hell yet. She didn't need the help yet, she could still manage this on her own. As she succumbed, again, to the tears that she couldn't seem to get rid of, she prayed that when she really did need the help, she wouldn't be too far gone to remember Greg had offered.

* * *

Greg sat in his car, unwilling to go back to the lab, but afraid of what Sara would do to him if he stayed. He was really at an impasse, should he do what she asked, when he knew it wasn't what she needed, or should he stay and anger her, causing her to push him farther away. Neither would help, and he was suddenly unable to make a decision on the matter.

He had seen the apprehension in her eyes, the wild look of desperation as her emotions slowly slipped out of her control. He had always known Sara was an emotional person. Sure, she may not show her emotions to everyone and wear her heart on her sleeve, but after studying her habits since he had known her, he knew she had strong feelings inside of her. It was apparent by her reaction to cases, her dedication to her job and the victims, her loyalty to her friends, and her passion for everything she set her hands on. If she deemed a task worthy for her time, she focused on it and gave it 115 percent. There had always been a spark inside of her, even on her worst days, and he knew that with the spark still lit, she was going to be okay.

He'd only have to worry when she stopped snapping at him, when she gave up the fight. Sara had been through a lot in her life, and although she hadn't said anything to Greg, he knew there was more to her life than she had shared with him after the miscarriage. She couldn't have gone through all of that and turned out to be a wonderful person if she didn't have incredible inner strength. It was her strength that would pull her through this, the same inner force that had helped her survive her past struggles, the same determination she used to solve her cases, to take the extra step to make a difference. If she didn't lose her strength, her sense of self, then she'd be fine. She was a fighter, a survivor, and she could handle whatever life was throwing at her now.

All he could do was trust that if she started to lose the ability or willpower to fight the demons inside, she'd let him help her heal. She could handle this, he had complete faith in her, she was one of the strongest women he knew.

He pulled out of his parking space, feeling confident that she would be okay without him watching over her shoulder, and vowing to return once shift was over to check in. After all, even though he knew she was strong, he wanted to see with his own two eyes that she was still fighting.

* * *

Sara was in pain, she couldn't deny it. She presumed that the physical strain of working earlier, along with being tense from crying for hours, was the cause of her muscles to ache, and although she knew that if she went to sleep and forced herself to calm down she'd probably feel better, she decided to take her pain medication anyway.

She took two long yellow caplets, swallowing them dry, and then searched the cluttered coffee table for her Zoloft. She probably shouldn't take any more, it was a once-a-day prescription, but it had been over eighteen hours since she had first taken it, and the effects had definitely worn off. She never cried this much, she never had such a hard time controlling her emotions in the past, and she was now starting to worry that she really was going to have that nervous breakdown she kept teetering on the edge of.

The Zoloft hadn't really helped earlier when she had taken it, she still felt miserable, her heart still felt like it had a huge gaping hole in the center of it, and she still couldn't keep her mind off of everything that had happened, past and present. The only difference was the crying. The medication enabled her to keep those thoughts and feelings inside, instead of flowing freely out of her in the form of a salty secretion from her tear ducts. Right now, she'd take what she could get.

She took two of the small white pills, even though the bottle said to take one, and tiredly got up in search of something to eat. She knew that the strength of the medication, combined with her stress levels and physical condition, would make her ill on an empty stomach. She poked around the fridge, not finding anything that looked like it hadn't gone past it's expiration date.

She then moved towards the pantry, sighing as she pulled out a bag of pretzels and poured a few handfuls into a bowl. With a tired sigh, she pulled a beer out of the fridge and lightly walked to the living room to turn the TV on. What she needed was something to focus on. Work had been a good distraction, the only drawback was the torture on her already-sore lower abdominal muscles. Tonight she'd watch some mind-numbing generic comedy on television. Maybe she'd be able to crack a smile. Maybe, with the aid of her anti-depressants, she'd even laugh. And laughing would be better than crying, thus starting the healing process.

She had already had three beers by the time she realized that she shouldn't mix alcohol and medication. She had noticed over the past hour and a half that her movements were getting clumsy, her mind foggy and dizzy. She hadn't really thought much of it, just assuming that it was the pain medication kicking in and wiping her out, and suddenly couldn't remember how many she had taken.

She pulled the bottle out, counting the remaining pills and deciding that she hadn't overdosed or anything, laughing giddily when she saw the alcohol warning label. It wasn't funny, but the idea of being worried or upset wasn't as appealing to her as the waves of laughter that sent her falling from the couch to the floor. She blamed the response on the anti-depressants, they weren't letting her cry. Apparently, two were better than one. Of course, the 3 completed beers and the start of a fourth clouded her judgement as well, and she had drank enough over the years to know that when she had been drinking, everything else seemed a lot more comical.

Her brother used to tell her that she should drink more often, since it helped her see the funny side of life. He had explained that some people were serious when drunk, some were silly, some were violent, some were thinkers. He said that by his observations, the way you behaved while drinking usually was the total opposite of the way they behaved sober. So, in his logic, she was too serious and needed the alcohol to have fun. She had been 17 at the time, away at Harvard, and the only reason she had even been near her brother was because she had bailed him out of jail on a Track 1 drug charge. At the time, she told him she refused to take advice on alcohol from someone who had just been arrested for possession of drugs.

They had grown up seeing a lot of alcohol in their lives, and she had told him she wasn't going to stoop to the level their parents had fallen to. She had insisted that the only reason she had been drinking that night was because he bought it for her, and it was a one-time thing. She had confided she had never even had alcohol before, which sent him into peals of laughter and disbelief, and insisted that she wasn't going to be a person who relied on alcohol to loosen up.

That was true for many years. It wasn't until she started working as a CSI that she drank to unwind, and even then, it wasn't drinking to the point of getting drunk. She could count on one hand how many times she had actually been drunk, and even though she had only drank 3 and a half beers tonight, she would have to count it on her list. Of course, it wasn't just alcohol in her system, but she was definitely past "just tipsy" and veering from "messed up" to "totally messed up".

Somewhere in her disoriented mind, she realized she should probably call Greg and let him know what she had done, because at the moment she couldn't remember exactly what happened when you mixed the alcohol and medication. She was certain she knew, she had learned that years ago, but at the moment she could barely remember what TV show she was watching, and why it was so damn funny.

By the time she found the phone, she forgot why she was laughing, and who she was planning to call in the first place. After a few minutes, she realized she was supposed to be calling Greg, and managed to find his number in her cell phone through her foggy head. By the time he picked up on the third ring, the alcohol, medication, fatigue, and stress had gotten to her and she had passed out on the sofa, the phone falling to the floor.

_TBC, if I'm bribed with replies..._


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, but I do own a copy of the new TV Guide for next week, which has two pages on the season finale. Actually, I don't own that copy either, I just ripped the page from my brother's subscription.

**Author's Notes**: This chapter doesn't have too much Greg and Sara, but I had to push through some other stuff before I could get to them. Please let me know what you think, honestly--good or bad, I can take it.

Oh, and a warning, I did drop a few curse words towards the end. I normally don't use those (in speech or in writing) but they seemed to fit, and they flowed from my fingers before I could censor them.

I didn't think I'd finish this tonight, but I'm relieved to see I did. If it would have been written earlier this evening, poor Sara may have died, luckily, I placed a call to my Mom and cried to her for an hour, then the same to both of my brothers and my sister. Needless to say, I wrote this in only about 45 minutes. I was fueled by frustration. My job is awful, well, the job's great, the people are awful. It's so much funnier when they're picking on other people, it's not that funny when it's you. Our resident clown, Sam, has always been my pal, from the day I started working as a trainee in the sheriff's office back in 1999, but he picked on me so much today that I locked myself in the file room and cried for my entire lunch hour. I'm having flashbacks of middle school every time I walk in the office. And, to top it all off, my A/C is broken, and while last week it was cool (lows in the 60s, highs in the upper 70s) this week, it's miserable. It got into the 90s today. And my brother can fix it, but he's "busy" until Friday, so my daughter and I are stuck sleeping next to this one tiny box fan I was able to find, running the risk of being robbed with the big door open and the screen door shut, and the windows wide open to let the mosquitos in.

_Jenny_

**Six:**

Greg paced the break room nervously, letting out a frustrated growl as Sara's voice mail picked up yet again. She had dialed his cell phone nearly 15 minutes earlier, and when he answered, he was rewarded with silence.

His first reaction was to panic, why would she call and not talk, nor hang up? After calling her name for several minutes, he decided to hang up and call her back.

He dialed her home phone first, which rang fifteen times before he gave up, then her cell phone, which went to her voicemail after 4 rings. He proceeded to call both numbers again, trying to remain calm. Maybe she had dialed his number by mistake and was screening her calls. Maybe her ringers were turned off so she could rest?

Of course, all positive reasoning was being clouded by the sinking feeling of doom, along with the nagging voice in his head telling him he should go check on her, she could have hurt herself, she could have been robbed, she could need help.

He decided to call her one more time, and if he didn't get an answer, he was going to go by her apartment. After all, if it wasn't an emergency and she had called him by mistake, the worst that could happen would be her telling him to leave. At least it would give him another chance to reassure himself that she was alright. Her voicemail picked up again, and he left a third message for her to call him back immediately, fear pounding in his chest.

He threw his Styrofoam coffee cup away, quickly walking from the break room to Grissom's office, fear growing in his chest. He had almost reached his destination when Grissom walked out, the two nearly colliding in the hallway.

"Good, I was looking for you. Miriam Kits, Anna Thomas's neighbor-the one who called with a possible lead-has arrived for questioning, Brass wants you to meet him down there. Sophia is waiting on a suspect from last week's B&E and I am on my way to meet Warrick at our crime scene from earlier. As soon as you're through talking to her, I want a full report, I'll have my pager and my cell." Grissom said, Greg following in step beside him as they moved towards the reception area.

Greg shook his head, "Gris, can you get Sophia or someone to cover for me with the neighbor? I--"

"Greg, Sophia and I are spread thin right now, she's working three cases. Whatever you need to do can wait until after you talk to Mrs. Kits." Grissom said, the annoyance he felt clearly heard in his voice. "Honestly, Greg, you ask for more responsibility, and as soon as I give it to you, you're backing--"

Greg shook his head firmly, interrupting Grissom, "It's Sara."

"What about Sara?" Grissom asked, the annoyance draining from his voice, concern replacing it, "What is going on?"

"I got a call from her cell, but there was just silence, and I've been trying to call her back and she's not picking up. I know she's been, er, sick for a few days, and I wanted to run by her apartment and make sure everything was okay." Greg said nervously, looking down at the ground, hoping his boss would agree to send Greg to Sara's. If one name caused a soft spot in Grissom's cold heart, it was Sara's. "It's not like her to not answer her phone."

Grissom nodded, pulling out his cell and dialing Sara's number. After her voicemail picked up, he snapped his phone closed and sighed, "I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just sleeping. As soon you finish with Mrs. Kits, you can go to see Sara."

"What if something's seriously wrong with her!" Greg exclaimed, drawing the attention of Catherine and Nick, who had been coming from the other direction, deep in conversation over their current case. "Grissom, you've got to let me go!"

Catherine motioned for Nick to wait as she took a few steps closer to Grissom, "What's going on?"

"It's nothing, Catherine," Grissom said cooly, glancing down at his watch, "Greg, you've got someone waiting for you."

Greg turned towards Catherine, knowing she was usually able to talk a little sense into his dense supervisor, "Sara's been out sick for a few days. She's having some...personal...problems, and she's been really upset. She called my cell and when I answered, I just got dead air. I called her back, and she's not picking up. I wanted to go check on her, but obviously the neighbor of our victim is more important than Sara is."

"Gil, Greg, both of you need to calm down." Catherine said gently, watching as the two men began to glare at each other. "I'm about to leave anyway, I'll stop by her apartment and make sure everything is okay. Greg, you can go to your interview, Gil you can do whatever you need to do. I'll call both of you and let you know if she's okay."

Nick stepped forward, clearing his throat softly, "Cath, why don't I go? You can head on to the hotel and see if you can get some information from the manager on our case. I don't know if you going to see Sara is a good idea."

"What? Nicky, don't be ridiculous. Just because we're not best friends, doesn't mean we can't be civil." Catherine snapped, looking to Grissom and Greg for support, but seeing hesitation instead. Her left hand flew to her hip as she asked, "You all think we can't get along, even for a little while, don't you?"

Greg sighed tiredly, "Catherine, it's not like that. We all know about the blowup between the two of you earlier this year, I just don't think Sara's up for dealing with another fight."

"We were having a bad night. We've spoken, nicely, since then. It'll be fine. Nick, go on to the hotel and I'll meet you there. I promise I'll be nice." Catherine said, upset that they all thought she couldn't handle being civil with Sara for awhile. Just because they had argued didn't mean they hated each other, sometimes people argue, it's a fact of life.

"Oh, okay." Greg sighed, the disappointment and worry clear on his face, "Just call as soon as you get there, okay?"

Catherine nodded, heading in the opposite direction from the men, wondering if she had made the right decision. Apparently the others thought she couldn't handle a friendly chat with the younger woman, but what led them to that conclusion? Was it something Sara had voiced? Did her younger colleague still hold some residual anger from that night? What was she going to find when she arrived at Sara's?

By the time she backed out of her parking spot, she was starting to think she should have offered to question Greg's witness.

Sara's apartment was on the second floor of a beautiful complex, and although Catherine certainly did not miss her apartment days, she did make a mental note that if she was to move into an apartment again, it would be in a complex such as this. She knocked on Sara's heavy oak door, able to hear the faint sounds of the television coming from inside. She had seen Sara's SUV parked in the parking lot, so the possibility of Sara being away was slim, which meant she was in the apartment.

Catherine had called several times, but had not received an answer. She, like Greg, had thought maybe the phone had been turned off, but as she dialed the now-familiar number again, she was able to hear it ringing inside of the apartment. Now even Catherine was starting to worry.

There were several logical possibilities; Sara could be in the shower, she could be asleep, she could be screening her calls, she could be at a neighbor's apartment. She knocked again, her heart pounding as no movement was detected in the apartment.

She turned the knob, surprised to see Sara's door was unlocked. She would have expected Sara to be the type of person who locked, bolted, and chained her doors, especially dealing with the crazy people they dealt with every day. She slowly walked in, calling out Sara's name, getting goosebumps as she didn't receive an answer.

She shut the door behind her, calling Sara's name again, and sighing with relief when she spotted Sara in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, appearing to be asleep. At least there was no blood. She walked to the younger woman, careful not to make any sudden loud noises that could possibly startle Sara into reacting in a violent move of self defense. She reached out and shook Sara's shoulder lightly, relieved to see her skin was warm, and her chest was rising and falling, indicating that she was indeed alive. Greg would be relieved.

She noticed the cell phone laying on the floor, as if it dropped from Sara's reach during the call, and she flipped it closed, a smirk crossing her lips as it beeped, saying she had missed 17 calls. It was then that she noticed the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. The mother in Catherine slid a magazine off of the stack beside the table, resting the remaining beer, which was sweating onto the table, on the pages, so there wouldn't be a water ring left on Sara's table.

"Sara, hon, wake up." Catherine said, a little louder. She had not expected to have to deal with a passed-out-drunk Sara. She shook her a little harder than before, "Sara, come on, I don't have time for this."

She got no response from the younger woman, and Catherine picked up the beer bottles, going in the kitchen to try and determine how many Sara actually drank. She was surprised to see that the three and a half she was holding was Sara's complete consumption, but her surprise soon turned to worry. 3 beers, even 4, wasn't enough to bring anyone to unconsciousness, especially someone who had been known to drink, really drink, on occasion. There had to be something she was missing.

When she walked into the living room once more, she noticed what she had overlooked the first time. Hidden between a bowl of half-eaten pretzels and the magazine Catherine had just converted to a coaster, laid two pharmacy bottles. Picking them up, Catherine tried to fight the sinking sensation in her stomach.

Sara wouldn't do anything rash, would she? Catherine was mildly disgusted to realize she didn't know what Sara would do, lately. She slid the cap off of the bottle, quickly counting the pills and checking the label, groaning when she saw the alcohol warning. 3 pills, at 50 mg each, was 150 mg, which definitely wasn't enough to do any serious damage. She slid the white pills back into the bottle, deciding to wake Sara up for her own peace of mind. She was pretty sure the younger woman was alright, after all, she was breathing normally, and besides being a bit pale, she looked alright. She grabbed Sara's wrist and felt for a pulse, which was slightly elevated, but nothing to worry over.

"Sara, you need to wake up now." Catherine hissed, shaking her again, still getting no response. Sighing, Catherine pulled the younger woman into a sitting position, relieved when she let out a low moan.

Catherine shook her again, "Sara, hon, you need to get into bed, okay?"

"Leave me alone." Sara mumbled, her head falling slightly to the side as she started to slide back into darkness.

Catherine pulled Sara to her feet, surprised to feel how heavy Sara's weight was, despite her small body, "Come on, just a few steps, okay?"

"Go away." Sara mumbled, trying to pull away, her eyes finally opening and trying to adjust, "Catherine? You're not Greg."

Catherine shook her head, "No, I'm not. He had to interview someone from the case you guys are working on." She wasn't about to admit it to Sara, but she felt so relieved to see Sara becoming more and more alert, "You shouldn't drink while taking medication, you know."

"I know." Sara said softly, trying to pull away from Catherine, but giving up as she felt dizziness wash through her, leaving her unsteady, "I wasn't thinking," She paused, the fog that had surrounded her brain lifting slightly, "What are you doing here?"

"Greg was worried, he wanted someone to check on you." Catherine replied, opening Sara's bedroom door, "Where are your pajamas?"

Sara sat on the bed, motioning to the dresser, and eyed Catherine curiously, "Why did you come?"

"Why not?" Catherine asked, "I was worried, too."

Sara shook her head, "You don't need to worry about me. Greg's just paranoid."

"You could have done some serious damage to yourself." Catherine reprimanded, tossing her a pair of pajamas, "Your prescription was for once-a-day, and you've already taken three on the first day. That's not a good start."

Sara pressed her lips together as she tried to find a response. Sighing, she answered, "One didn't seem to do the trick. It's not like it was a lethal dosage, some people are taking prescriptions higher than those three pills combined."

"Some people aren't getting drunk at home." Catherine pointed out, "Doctors know what they're doing, they measure how much you take based on your medical history, weight, condition..."

Sara rolled her eyes, "I know. I just needed to take the edge off. Overdose is better than Russian Roulette, isn't it?"

The instant the words exited her mouth, Sara wanted to take them back. It had always been a bad habit of hers to say what was on her mind without thinking it through, and while she normally controlled it well, her disoriented mind wasn't filtering as carefully as it should be. Catherine's face paled slightly, and she let her jaw open in shock, "Sara Sidle, I know I must have heard that wrong."

"I don't want to talk about it." Sara said glumly, wishing she could crawl under the covers, but knowing that after that statement, Catherine would probably crawl under them as well, just to keep the subject open. Even if they weren't getting alone, Catherine wasn't one to let a comment like that slip through the cracks, none of her co-workers were. "I didn't mean it."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it. You can talk to me, Sara. You can trust me."

"Yeah, right." Mentally, Sara was screaming at herself to keep her brain-to-mouth filter on, knowing that if she spoke the first things that came to her mind, she and Catherine would probably end up physically fighting before the night was through. Even though she wanted to stop herself, the haze surrounding her brain wouldn't allow it, and in a half-drugged, half-drunk stupor, she snapped, "You'd tell everyone. We all know you are a gossip."

Catherine didn't react as Sara expected, instead, she sat next to Sara on the bed, "I know everyone thinks I'm a gossip, since I know everyone's business. But I can keep a secret, I keep a lot of secrets. Sometimes it just feels better to get things off of your chest. We'd all miss you if you were gone."

"Give me a fucking break." Sara snapped, her body tingling with sudden anger, instantly alert and on edge. "You, Nicky, and Warrick wouldn't even know the difference. Grissom would be relieved he didn't have to do the love-hate thing anymore, Sophia would be overjoyed that she was the only woman on shift. Greg would miss me, but he'd move on too. I know you care, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't go as far as saying you'd miss me. We rarely see each other as it is. Give me a break, Cath, just give me a fucking break."

Sara was now pacing the room angrily, her entire body shaking from the emotions racing through her body. She felt so out of control, so livid, and she couldn't control an ounce of it. She knew there was no logical reason for her to be so bitter and angry, yet she couldn't stop the words that flowed from her mouth, she couldn't stop saying things she knew would hurt Catherine, as much as she wanted to stop them.

"You act so high and mighty, Miss-I-Got-A-Promotion-And-Now-I'm-The-Boss. It makes me sick. Sure, you've been here for years, but you blew up the fucking lab! And then you move to a new shift, with the _only_ two people I can confide in, and I'm stuck with Greg and Sophia, the dumb twit and the new kid, and Grissom, who is emotionally brain-dead. Sure, Greg grew on me, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm left with the crappy team, the oblivious supervisor, and everyone else gets to be happy and move on. I'll be a stupid CSI 3 working grave until the day I die. And when I think of it that way, I'd rather it be sooner than later."

She spun around, cutting Catherine's comeback off, pointing her finger at the other woman, "Don't tell me you've never considered it. You were a dancer, you were a coke-head, don't you even try and deny it because I know it's true, and you went through hell in your marriage, just to leave you a single mom who never gets to see her kid. Don't tell me you've never thought about it! Guess what, Catherine, you can think you'd miss me all you want to, and you can try to guilt me into changing my mind, but the fact is, no one would even notice I was gone. And sure, I will get over my mood, and I probably wouldn't kill myself anyway, but it's not going to be because you don't want me to, or because Grissom doesn't want me to, or even because Greg doesn't want me to. It's about me, now. Okay? I'm tired of pretending anyone else on this lousy Earth gives a damn about me."

Her anger was starting to lose a bit of it's momentum, the fatigue settling in once more, leaving her physically and emotionally drained. This mood swings were killing her, making her feel crazier than she already felt.

The silence was louder than Sara's ranting, and after a few moments, Catherine couldn't take it anymore and asked, "Why do you think no one would care? I thought we were your friends?"

Sara turned to face Catherine, her eyes shining with tears, although her cold voice was steady, "Friends? Friends call each other just to visit. Friends notice when things are wrong. There was a time when I'd miss two days of work and Warrick and Nick would both call to check on me. There was a time when I would have been interrogated by my friends if I spent every day crying in the locker room. A friend would have called to check on me when I had a weapon held to my throat by a crazy suspect. None of us are friends. Maybe, at some point, we were, but not anymore. We work together, we all make nice and try to get along, but all of the feelings are gone. You don't notice that? Are you really that oblivious? Here I was, thinking you noticed everything. How did you get to be a Miss-Know-It-All without being observant?"

"Sara, you're being irrational. Sure, it's different with people working separate shifts, but it doesn't change friendships. People don't just stop being friends." Catherine reasoned.

She was worried for Sara, she had never seen the younger woman so worked up and upset, so bitter and angry. It was a side of Sara she definitely didn't want to see again, and with each moment that passed, her uneasiness multiplied exponentially.

Sara shook her head, "See, maybe that's how it works when you're beautiful, smart, and adored. But where the rest of us live, below your line of standards, apparently, it happens all of the time."

She sank onto the bed, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over, "Did you know I was pregnant?"

"You're pregnant?" Catherine asked, her head whipping around to the brunette, "Since when?"

Sara shook her head, her anger now fully deflated and replaced with the heavy burden of grief, "I was, until earlier this week. 17 weeks, and I had a miscarriage. See, a friend would have known that."

"Who knew? Why didn't anyone tell me? Grissom didn't mention anything--" Catherine's questions were fired in rapid succession, this revelation explaining a lot about Sara's mood. If she had just lost a baby, she'd probably be just as emotional, just as devastated, just as angry and bitter as Sara was behaving. She reached out to touch Sara's arm, her feelings slightly hurt as Sara flinched and pulled away. She took a deep breath, knowing that this was hard for Sara, that she shouldn't take it personally, then waited for Sara to continue speaking.

Sara shook her head, looking down at the floor, "Grissom didn't know. I didn't even know until recently. Greg said he knew something was up, but he hadn't put the pieces together. I suspected, but didn't want to face the truth of it until just a few weeks ago." She exhaled heavily, her chest once again stabbing with pain, "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to yell at you. I've been feeling so...crazy...lately. I can't seem to get my head on straight."

Catherine sighed, reaching out and touching Sara's arm gently, "Your body is going through a lot of changes, you are going to be acting irrational and crazy until your hormones go back to normal. You just need to try and focus on the good things, whether you believe it or not, we would all be devastated if something happened to you. You shouldn't be alone right now, not like this."

"I just want to go to bed." Sara said softly, pulling away from Catherine so the blonde wouldn't see her tears. She couldn't break down in front of Catherine, not after blowing up seconds earlier. Where had that come from? That was so unlike her...of course, she had been doing so many things that was very unlike her lately. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized how stupid she must look right now. How did she get into these messes?

Catherine handed Sara the pajamas once more, "Change, I'll call my Mom and tell her that I'll be home later, and I'll stay to help you if you need anything. You should be resting."

"I'm fine, Cath." Sara said quickly, her automatic response to any statement that would indicate otherwise. Seeing Catherine's incredulous look, she amended her statement, "Okay, I may not be fine yet, but I will be. You don't have to stay, go home to your daughter."

Catherine shook her head, "No, I would feel awful forever if I didn't do this. Consider it a peace offering for that fight a few months back, okay? Change, go to bed, get some sleep, and when you wake up I'll fix breakfast, okay?"

"You really don't have to do this." Sara insisted, although her body craved the feeling of being taken care of. It had been so long since someone had taken care of her, save Greg the night of the miscarriage, and she had to admit that it felt nice, having someone do exactly what she pictured a mother doing. She had never been babied or really cared for, she and her brother looked out for themselves, their parents were too busy with their lives to take care of their children the way children were supposed to be taken care of.

As Catherine went into 'mother mode' and started dishing out orders about resting and drinking fluids and taking pain medication (after seeing Sara stiffly bend down to pick up the pajama bottoms she had dropped), Sara started to relax. For as often as Sara had pictured whacking Catherine's head right off her shoulders for being pushy and condescending, when it was being directed towards her in this manner, it was sort of nice.

As she settled down in bed, her emotional outburst leaving her completely drained and desiring another Zoloft, she couldn't help but wish Greg was there with her, because as much as Catherine made her feel warm and cozy, Greg made her feel sane. She looked at the clock as her eyes closed, relieved that his shift would be over in just a few short hours, and hoping he'd come by her apartment before going home.

On the other side of the apartment, Catherine began to tidy up Sara's living room and kitchen, her cell phone against her ear as she dialed Grissom's number. Sure, Greg had begged to be called, but before she reassured him that Sara was alive and kicking, she felt the urge to inform Grissom of the situation.

She had seen women on the edge before, when she was dancing it was a common theme among the girls at the club, but she had never pictured Sara in that position. The cold, bitter, detached look had frightened her, and while opening up and releasing some of her anger had seemed to help the younger woman, it was obvious she was still struggling with the demons inside of her. She knew Sara wouldn't let her get close enough to really help, but she also knew that if someone didn't, Sara's saga would not have a happy ending.

_TBC- Coming up, Sara and Greg have a heart-to-heart, which leads to a co-ed shower...you'll read the next part to find out what I mean..._


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone or anything, but it's always good to aim high, right?

**Author's Notes:** Well, I may have finished writing at 11:30 pm, but I finished, and that's all that matters, right? I had a very, very hard time finishing up this chapter, I thought it would be next Friday before I'd finish, but I guess I was wrong.

I know it's dark, but I'm in a dark place tonight, so it was only fitting for th story to be there too. Be glad I wrote this one, because if I had worked on 'Denial' I may have killed off someone. Luckily, I didn't do that on this one either.

I managed to get written up at work for finishing an argument that someone else started with me, and now me and this jerk are being forced to go to teamwork classes, to boost morale and encourage us to work together, since my boss doesn't want to get rid of either of us for a long, long time. While I was relieved to hear that if anyone else besides Sam and I would have pulled a stunt like we did, they would have been fired, and we just got written up and slightly punished, it bums me out to know I'm going to be stuck with Sam for a long, long time. Up side? He seemed just as disappointed to hear I wasn't leaving any time soon as well. It's amazing how a bunch of grown adults can still act like we're in middle school...I guess some things never change. Guess that means my boss needs to get us a babysitter next time he leaves us in charge?

Please, please, please leave me a reply and let me know what you think.

_Jenny_

**Seven:**

_Sara scooped the little girl into her arms, laughing and giving the girl a kiss on the cheek, "Now, Katie, didn't I tell you to go to bed?"_

"_I won't!" The toddler shrieked, laughing as Sara placed her back in the bed, immediately rolling over to try and escape. The child's eyes were tired, a yawn escaping her lips as she desperately clung to the worn teddy bear, although she protested bedtime with every shred of energy she had left. _

_Sara laughed again, tickling the little girl until she laid back down, and using the moment of stillness to cover her up, squatting beside the bed, which was merely 6 inches off the floor, and kissing her forehead, then each cheek, then her lips, pressing their foreheads together and saying, "Good night, Love bug, Mommy will be back to check on you as soon as your video is over. Mommy loves you."_

_She reset the sleep timer on the small television and pushed the 'Blue's Clues' tape back into the VCR, smiling as Katie let out a shriek of laughter and excitement as she recognized the opening music. She walked to the door, turning to face her daughter, and blowing her a kiss, "I love you, baby."_

"_Love you Mama." Katie replied, her eyes heavy as she rolled onto her side, clutching the worn bear and focusing in the television. _

_Sara shut the door behind her, walking down the hallway and into the living room. Time fast-forwards and she finds herself creeping back towards Katie's room, somehow knowing that her daughter would be curled up in a ball on the floor, her pillow and covers beneath her, as if she had tried to make one last escape from the bed and didn't succeed before exhaustion won. She somehow knew that every night, this was the same routine. 2 videos, the same blanket-fleece, even in the summer-, and the worn out teddy bear, named Buster, on the floor, looking angelic as always. _

_She pushed the door open, and instead of the sight she was expecting, she was met with a bare room, no toddler bed, no 'Dora the Explorer' and 'Elmo' blankets and toys, no white changing table-turned-entertainment center, no blue screen of the television illuminating the room, no small clothes, shoes, and blocks. The beige carpeting had been pulled up and replaced with shiny wood floors, the walls were even bare of the ballerina wallpaper that had cost a fortune. And the spot where the hyperactive one-and-a-half-year old girl should have been sleeping? A dark red pool of blood._

Sara awoke screaming, bolting into a sitting position, unable to get the images out of her mind. Her breathing was ragged, and dizziness washed through her as she tried to calm herself down. Her body was drenched in sweat, the cool air of her apartment, along with her shaken nerves, causing her to tremble.

She glanced at the clock, groaning loudly. She had been sleeping for an hour and 15 minutes, which sadly enough, was the most she had gotten all week. She contemplated trying to go back to sleep, but she knew it was useless, since the nightmares began, she hadn't gotten a full night's sleep. That, she could blame on Grissom.

Catherine had stayed with her one night just over two weeks ago, and she let it slip to the older woman that she had suffered from a miscarriage. True to her image, Catherine had, in turn, spread the news to Grissom, who had taken on a worrying gaze every time they were in the same room now, his eyes silently throwing questions at her that she wasn't ready to answer.

One night after shift, when Greg was due to appear in court, thus, leaving her alone for the first time in the few days she had been back to work, Grissom had taken it upon himself to treat her to breakfast, complete with the opening of a can of worms.

He had been trying to help, and Sara had been grateful for the concern, she really had. It had been ages since he had shown her genuine concern, and the attention from him was something she had always craved. Their friendship had always taken ups and downs, and they had been in a downward spiral, and it felt nice to have him talking to her...if only the subject would have been different.

It may have been okay, if he wouldn't have started off with "How are you doing?" As if the bags under her eyes and her pale face hadn't shown she wasn't in tip top condition, as if she could possibly be alright after being dealt such a blow.

It might have still been okay, until he spoke his next question, "Who was the father?"

That was the point where the conversation began it's rapid descent downhill. Her first reaction was to tell him it obviously wasn't him, because even when she wanted him to touch her, he stayed far away. Her second was to tell him she wasn't fooling around with any of her coworkers, but she refrained from saying it, just because she didn't want the possibility to even enter his mind. She knew the truth would earn her a disappointed gaze and a shake of the head, possibly even a discussion on safe sex and the possibility of sexually transmitted diseases, or the risk of getting raped and murdered by bringing home a guy you met in a bar. She knew, she had worked the same crime scenes as he had over the last few years.

Instead, she dodged the question and tried to change the subject. It went from paternity to why she hadn't told him she was pregnant, about the risks of her job and the possible dangers to the fetus by certain procedures and chemicals they use on a daily basis. She had cut him off, telling him she had been careful and she wouldn't intentionally put herself or any of her children-born or developing- in harm's way.

Then he brought up her obvious depression. After finding out what she had told Catherine, in confidence, he had been seriously concerned about her mental stability. He had gone through the whole speech about her having people on her side, getting help when she needed it, not relying on alcohol or anonymous sex to get through her problems, as if she was sleeping with someone new every night. She had cut him off again, stressing the point that she was not a whore to persuaded every male she came in contact with to sleep with her. She told him she was fine, that she was being medicated to keep her in control of her emotions, that he had nothing to worry about.

He suggested counseling, she refused. He suggested group therapy, she refused. He offered an open invitation for a ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on, she again refused. She had told him she was under control.

And she had been, until she went home and fell asleep.

Until then, she had been able to block out the miscarriage, she had been able to take her little white pill and forget about everything. She had been able to pretend like nothing had happened, like she was just in a funk, like she was the same person she had been a few weeks back. After talking to Grissom, a floodgate of emotions had opened and poured out, causing her to cry herself to sleep.

That's when the nightmares started. They were the same, every night, and after sleeping for about an hour, sometimes more, sometimes less, she would wake up, frightened to the core, shaking like a leaf, unable to breathe, to think, to move. And definitely unable to sleep for the rest of the day.

Today was no different. The second her eyes shut, she saw the happy little toddler, then the blood. She shakily walked to the bathroom, dropping the stopper into the tub's drain and turning on the hot water. The lack of sleep, along with tremendous stress, was starting to wear her down. She was to exhausted to eat, to think straight, to focus on anything. Work, which had been her haven at once point, was turning into a nightmare. Greg, of all people, was constantly having to go behind her and check her work, which was often riddled with mistakes. Of course, everyone knew she was having a rough time, so for now they were covering for her.

Sara knew it was a matter of time before she made a major mistake, one Greg couldn't fix, and Ecklie found out. That would be the icing on the cake, the act that got her fired. She tried to summon up the passion to care, but was unable to. If the fatigue hadn't numbed her mind completely, the anti-depressants finished the job. Their goal was to keep her alive, and that's what they were doing. It was just too bad they couldn't keep her alive and functioning. She had spent the first week while taking the Zoloft in a energetic frenzy. She had cleaned her apartment, caught up on all of her housework, did several books of mind-teasers and word-search games, read several books, watched tons of new movies, and wrote long-overdue letters to her grandparents, cousins, and brother that she had been neglecting for years.

As the sleepless nights added up, the pills weren't enough to keep her awake, and the nightmares were too intense to let her sleep. With every sleepless night came something else for her overloaded mind to worry about, whether it was Grissom, Greg, the miscarriage, her work, her friends-or lack of them, anything that came into her mind turned into a near, if not full, panic attack.

She thought of calling her doctor and seeing if it was a problem with her medication, but she changed her mind, reasoning that her forgetfulness and anxiety were better than mind-numbing suicidal depression that she knew was waiting for her once she stopped taking her medication. Of course, after one of her terrifying nightmares, she sometimes wondered if she'd rather be depressed.

She eased one foot into the hot water, flinching as her foot started to tingle from the burning heat. After the tingling stopped, she let her foot touch the bottom of the tub, balancing her weight to slowly ease the other in. After this leg was also adjusted to the heat, she eased herself into a sitting position, gasping first from the heat, then in relief as her body adjusted to the temperature and she was able to lean back, resting her head against the cool porcelain of her tub, her eyes slowly closing as she began to relax.

* * *

Greg glanced at the clock anxiously, his eyes shifting quickly from Grissom to his cell phone, which was laying on the table in the break room. "Sara's never late."

"Sara's had a lot going on, she probably just overslept or lost track of time. Give her 15 more minutes, then you can call her." Grissom said calmly, although his facial expression showed that he would love nothing more than to oblige Greg's request.

Grissom glanced at the clock, himself, and then met Greg's eye, "Do you want your assignment now? I've got three cases, so we're all solo."

"I've never worked solo," Greg said slowly, "And I don't think Sara should be working solo right now."

Grissom sighed heavily, "Greg, don't think I don't know everything that goes on during my shift. You've been covering a heavy workload, you've been doing excellent work and you have shown me your capabilities. I believe you are fully capable to handle a scene solo. Sara will be fine as well, I think having to focus on the case without anyone to back her up will be good for her, it will give her something to keep her mind occupied. If either of you need help, I'll have my pager, and Warrick's on standby since we're short-handed."

Catherine's voice rang through the room, "I thought you'd be long gone by now."

"I thought the same about you." Grissom retorted, turning to face Catherine, "Busy evening?"

Catherine pointed to the assignment sheets in his hand, "Just as busy as you're going to be. Good luck." She scanned the room, noticing only Greg and Grissom's presence, "Where are the ladies tonight?"

Grissom looked down at his watch, his eyes meeting Greg's in a nod of agreement. Greg started to dial Sara's home number, while Grissom answered Catherine's question, "Sara hasn't made it in yet, and Sophia is in Detroit at a conference."

"Sara hasn't made it in yet?" Catherine asked incredulously, "Are we talking about the same Sara here? Your shift started 45 minutes ago."

An irritable voice answered behind Catherine, "Don't you have anything better to do than talk about me? And I'm pretty sure Gris can read a watch, after all, he passed third grade, didn't he?" Sara's tone of irritation grew when she saw the concerned look on Greg's face, and the shocked one on Grissom's, "What? I know I'm late, I overslept. It won't happen again...don't act like none of you have never came in late. I would have called, but I didn't want to be set back even further."

"You look awful, girl." Catherine said, ignoring the jab Sara had initially dealt to her. "Are you sure you got enough sleep?"

Sara turned back to face Catherine, her eyes narrowing, "I don't believe my sleeping habits are any of your concern. You're not _my_ supervisor," She turned back to Grissom, "Handing out assignments or what?"

With a worried glance, he handed Sara a slip of paper, "DB at Mandalay Bay. Detective Vartan is waiting there, he's not in the best of moods, tread lightly."

"Shouldn't you be warning him of that?" Greg quipped, his smile fading and his eyes dropping as Sara turned her furious glare towards him, snatching the paper from Grissom and storming out of the room.

Catherine raised her eyebrows, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

"It's always a challenge, trying to decipher what mood she's going to be in on any given day lately." Grissom replied, his voice matching the concern in his eyes, "Greg, meet Sara at Mandalay Bay and assist her. I'll call Warrick in for your case."

Catherine held up her hand, "It's not fair to Greg to have to miss out on working solo to clean up after Sara's messes. I'll have Warrick assist Sara, let Greg get out there and get his hands dirty. He's got to build a name for himself."

"It doesn't really matter." Grissom sighed, handing Greg a slip of paper, "Is Warrick still here or did he head home?"

Catherine jerked her thumb towards the locker room, "He was just finishing up, I'll go let him know to meet Sara."

As the break room emptied, Grissom looked at his own slip, letting it fall to the table as he sank into a chair, his elbows on the table, his eyes resting against the palms of his hands. He liked to be in control, and suddenly everything was spiraling out of his grasp, leaving him on edge, confused, and worried. Three things he didn't like to feel. Something had to be done, if only he could figure out what.

Warrick walked up to Sara and Detective Vartan, who were both dangerously close to hitting the other, both poised for a fight, and both trying to determine who could talk the loudest, without actually yelling.

"Calm down, both of you." Warrick said, a hand on Sara's arm, "Sara, search the room, leave the body for me. Vartan, give me the rundown."

Sara shot Vartan a venomous glare before grabbing her kit and storming into the bedroom of the suite the victim had been found in, cursing quietly under her breath as she began to survey the room.

She knew there was no reason to be angry, she had simply found that the easiest mood to handle once she awoke from her hour-long nap in her bathtub, jolted to reality by yet another nightmare about her child that should have been.

She began dusting for prints, barely aware of the hotel suite clearing out, until finally it was just her and Warrick. She had been able to avoid him since the miscarriage, although she was sure he knew what had happened. They had never been really close, although he always had her back, and she was surprised to feel less tense while working with him. When she was paired with Grissom or Greg, she was constantly watching over her shoulder, worrying what they were thinking about her, the pain Grissom had caused her years ago to bubble to the surface around him, the guilt she felt for bringing Greg into her hellish life bubbling while around him.

The more comfortable she became with Warrick, the more she started to get into processing the scene. She glanced around the area she had been working on, giving a small smile as she realized she hadn't overlooked anything glaringly obvious as she had been doing lately. By the time she had finished the bedroom, she was in a much friendlier mood. It wasn't until she started to rifle through the victim's possessions that her mood drastically changed.

The victim had been a 35 year old woman, Clair Barnes, and she had been registered at Mandalay Bay with her husband, Theo, who had not been present at the time of check in. Sara vaguely remembered Warrick saying Vartan was checking into Theo Barnes's location. The first black suitcase was filled with various clothing and personal items, both male and female. The other two suitcases were smaller, although both would still be considered large. She opened the second one, surprised to see it filled with toys, which by first glance, seemed to belong to a young child. The infant sized clothing verified her assumption, and she began to wonder what had happened to the kid, if he (she assumed it was a he from the clothing) was with the father, or if possibly he had been kidnaped.

She called out for Warrick, wanting to get his take on the suitcase of toys and clothing. She heard him call back that he was coming, and she popped open the third suitcase, her heart racing and her breathing shallow as she slammed it shut, clamping her hand over her mouth and taking a deep breath.

After a few brief seconds of trying to calm herself, she realized it was useless, and she sprinted into the hallway, vomiting onto the carpet as she held onto the wall to keep herself steady. In the room, she heard the click of the suitcase a second time, along with a loud swear from Warrick.

She took a few deep breaths, determined not to be affected by this turn of events. She clenched her fists tight, silently telling herself she could handle this, that she was going to find the person who did this and bring them to justice.

She entered the room, coming face-to-face with Warrick, who had shut the suitcase back. He had a look of surprise, disgust, and anger on his face as he motioned to the suitcase, "Who does something like that?"

"I don't know." She started to tremble, "War, I can't...I...I can't do him."

Warrick nodded, handing her his camera, "Go back and follow up on pictures of the victim..the first one. I'll handle this one."

Sara exited, the relief she felt evident on her face, and Warrick took a deep, calming breath and opened the suitcase once more, frowning sadly and touching the small hand with his gloved finger, "Hey there little guy, we're going to find who did this to you, okay?"

He flipped the tag on the boy's overalls over, cursing softly. He was wearing a 6-9 month outfit, which meant he was less than a year old. No child that young, no child any age, should have been mutilated that badly, his body scarred beyond recognition, his blue overalls stained red, almost black, with blood. His face was battered, although his innocence still shined through, and there was a severe indentation on his head, probably from a fatal blow, although he'd leave that to Doc Robbins.

He battled nausea himself as he gathered the evidence he needed, resisting the urge to cover the baby as he turned away, fighting tears that threatened to make their way to the surface. He walked into the living area, knowing he would need to take pictures, and planning on getting the camera from Sara.

What he didn't expect was to see her sitting on the middle of the floor, her head buried in her knees, which were drawn to her chest, rocking herself back and forth as she silently sobbed, finally having reached her breaking point.

He silently slipped back into the bedroom, pulling out his phone and dialing Catherine's number, knowing she would have answers on what to do. Minutes later, she had reassured him that she was on her way, and she'd handle things until Grissom or Greg finished their own cases. As he hung up, he did the only thing he could think of for the meantime, he knelt down beside her and pulled her into a tight embrace. He tried to soothe her at first, but after realizing she wasn't even aware of his presence, he settled with holding her, praying that she wasn't in the middle of some serious breakdown. She had already reached her breaking point, he didn't want to witness her topple over the edge.

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, none of CSI is mine... 

**Author's Notes:** Well, here is a brand new chapter...Chock full of Sara and Greg for your reading pleasure. 

I had the best day at work today! Sorry, I just had to share. My boss shut the pain-in-my-butt Sam and I in his office and let us yell at each other and get everything out in the open. It worked like a miracle, we got along so nicely for the rest of the day. AND, I got to ride in the coroner's van today and get in on some hands on action, not just behind the curtain stuff. 

Please let me know what you think, I love to get feedback. 

Happy Monday! (Yeah, right) 

_Jenny_

**Eight:**

Sara laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling and counting slowly and calmly, deciding she wasn't going to stop until she had gotten her heart rate under control and had lost the desire to pummel Catherine and Warrick for interfering with her emotional outburst. She was on 19,876. 

Warrick deserved to interfere, she let her emotions interfere with their case. She saw that precious little boy shoved into that black suitcase, his precious blue eyes looking terrified, his skin beaten and bloody. It made her stomach turn even now to think about it. She couldn't help the hysteria that had washed over her, and the quick meltdown that followed. Sure, Warrick had a right to be involved. She owed him answers, not to mention a huge favor. The only thing she couldn't forgive was him calling Catherine. 

Catherine, of all people. Was he insane? Why not Greg? Nick? Hell, even Grissom would have been an improvement. She may have actually preferred to talk to her mailman over opening up to Catherine. After all, the mailman wasn't going to run off and tell everyone what you told him. 

Sara knew what she needed-a fifth of gin and another Zoloft. Of course, Catherine wouldn't go for that, she suggested rest and a counseling appointment. 20,114. 

She had gone straight to her room once Catherine had brought her home, ignoring her pleas for Sara to talk to her. Sara didn't want to talk with anyone, especially Catherine, and wasn't in the mood to even try to be polite. The last thing she wanted to do was fight with the older CSI, and she knew that if she opened her mouth, they'd end up fighting. 

She had heard Catherine on the phone, and she assumed she was calling Grissom to let him know Sara had freaked out a crime scene and had been taken home. Grissom would probably insist on her seeing a therapist. Greg would probably start to hover again. Catherine would probably continue to mother her until she thought of a way to make the older CSI disappear. 

She hadn't spoken a word since she told Warrick she couldn't handle the infant. She didn't plan on starting any time soon, either. It was much nicer when it was quiet, she couldn't say the wrong thing, and there was less of a chance of incriminating herself when she didn't say much. 20,997. 

Her eyelids started to feel heavy, and she tried to remember what had caused her to feel so tired. The events at the crime scene were hazy, at best, after finding the little boy. She vaguely remembered her legs giving out, and being glad she wasn't near the location of the mother's body, that way she wouldn't contaminate any evidence. She remembered Warrick coming into the room and holding her, rocking her gently and doing his best to calm her. At the time, she had been inconsolable, but she did appreciate his effort, she'd have to thank him. 

Catherine had shown up, and after that her mind got blurry, although she did remember being angry that they were talking about her like she wasn't even there. She remembered that Catherine had seemed very frightened when Sara wouldn't talk to her, although she had hid it quickly, and rather well. Somehow they had ended up in Catherine's SUV, then at Sara's apartment. 

Her eyes finally drooped closed, the lack of sleep and overabundance of emotions draining her energy. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was thinking she should write down what number she was on, 21,116, so if she was still aggravated when she woke up she could continue. 

_Sara sat on the floor of the living room, the toddler that haunted her dreams every night standing in front of her, her light brown hair pulled into pigtails, fastened with yellow bows. She wore a yellow t-shirt, which had 4 insects across the front of it, the writing underneath reading 'The Beetles'. The shirt was tucked into a pleated jean skirt, white jelly sandals completing the outfit. _

_"You're beautiful." Sara exclaimed, "Did you know that, Katie? You're just beautiful."_

_Katie nodded seriously, before squatting down to the floor and picking up her worn teddy bear, "Jonah?"_

_Sara picked up the teddy bear and nodded, her expression mimicking the seriousness of the child, "Jonah is beautiful too, love bug."_

_Katie took the bear back from Sara, and climbed onto the couch, standing against the back so she could see out the window, "Mama?"_

_"I'm right here, Katie-did." Sara replied, sitting down and allowing Katie to climb onto her lap, to get a little extra height to look out the window, "What do you see?"_

_Katie stared out the window for a moment, before looking back towards Sara and saying, "Car. Puppy. Kitty." _

_"You're so smart, Katie."_

_Katie babbled something in return, leaving Sara wondering what her daughter was trying to tell her. The young child sat down on Sara's lap, laying her head against Sara's chest and looking up at her mother. She offered Sara a smile as Sara gently rubbed her back. _

_The phone rang, and Sara gave Katie a kiss, setting her on the floor as she walked towards the kitchen counter to answer the phone. Katie watched curiously as Sara answered, "Hello?"_

_Katie let out a squeal of laughter, running in the direction of her bedroom and returning with a plastic telephone, holding it against her ear with her shoulder and mimicking, "Hi."_

_"Oh, Catherine. You should see Katie with her toy phone. She's holding it against her ear and talking into it." Sara gushed, her pinks turning pink as she realized she was, in fact, gushing. "Sorry, I always swore I wouldn't be one of those types of parents."_

_"Hi, hi, hi, hi." Katie babbled, walking around the living room with the toy against her ear. She squatted down in front of the sofa, where she had dropped her bear a few moments earlier, and held out the phone to the bear's ear, "You."_

_Sara watched with a smile on her face as she halfway listened to what Catherine was telling her. She told Catherine to hold on for a moment as she called out to Katie that she needed to put her phone away, because it was lunch time. Katie, still babbling on her phone, grabbed her bear and walked towards her bedroom, leaving Sara alone in the room. She finished her conversation with Catherine rather quickly, it had just been about Sara borrowing some old clothes from when Lindsey was a baby, and called out for her daughter to come eat lunch. _

_She didn't get a response from the usually clingy child, and she started walking down the hall, apprehension building in her chest. "Katie, honey? It's time to eat lunch. Do you want some fish sticks and some cheese crackers?"_

_She pushed open Katie's door, and instead of seeing the usual empty room, she was met with the room identical to the one that usually begins her dreams, this time, however, the young little girl had her throat slit open, blood covering the Dora the Explorer blanket and Jonah the teddy bear. Her lifeless, tiny body had been jammed into a dresser drawer, her terrified eyes starting back at Sara's horrified expression. _

Sara awoke with a loud, terrified scream, propelling her body from her bed and into her bathroom, her knees hitting the tile just as she began to throw up. As the spasms in her body paused, she leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself down. The result, however, was an instant reply of the scene that had just haunted her dreams, the image still fresh enough to remain burned in her memory. She threw up again, her forehead resting against the palms of her hands, her whole body shaking. 

The dream had never been like that before. She could only assume it had been intensified by the case she had worked earlier, images she would never forget of that crime scene merging with the nightmare that regularly haunted her. 

A knock on the already opened door jolted Sara back to reality, and she didn't even bother to look up, "Catherine?" 

"Unless Catherine has a penis, no." replied a familiar voice. "Although if I was Catherine, I would be so hot, and I'd get to look at my boobs whenever I wanted to." 

"Greg." Sara moaned, shivering slightly from the cold sweat that had broken out across her entire body, extending to places she didn't even know she could sweat. "What are you doing here?" 

Greg squatted down beside her, pressing a moist washcloth against her forehead, then moving it across the rest of her face and neck, until leaving it to rest on the back of her neck, right below her hairline. "Catherine called me. She figured you wouldn't want her or Grissom here, so I was her next choice." 

"Thank God it's you and not them." Sara moaned in agreement, gripping her sides in order to stop her body from shaking, "I'm sorry I couldn't just say 'hi' like a normal person." 

Greg brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, smiling softly, "That must have been one bad dream, I think they could hear you in Arizona." 

Sara blushed, looking down, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't you dare apologize. I'm just relieved you haven't kicked me out yet. Cath and Warrick told me what happened. Do you want to talk about it?" Greg pried softly, handing her a glass of water to rinse out her mouth. "You don't have to, if you don't want to, but it may help to get it off your chest." 

"I know it does. It's just...hard." Sara said sadly, pulling herself up using the counter, "I'm glad you came...even after I was such a bitch to you earlier." 

Greg smiled softly, walking her back to her bedroom, "You could be the world's biggest bitch, and I would still look out for you. We're friends, Sara. That's what friends do." 

"I keep having these awful nightmares." Sara said as she started to straighten out her bedspread, her hands shaking, "There's a little girl, my little girl, and normally it's the same. I put her to bed, I go to check on her, and she's gone-like she never existed, except there's this pool of blood. I guess the case was messing with me, because this time when I went to check on her, she had been murdered and shoved into a dresser drawer." 

Greg watched as she visibly shuddered, tears spilling down her cheeks, unnoticed. He wasn't sure what to tell her, he couldn't imagine going through what she had been put through her whole life, he wasn't sure he would have been able to handle everything she had been dealt. His heart broke for her as she sank onto her bed, doubling over and resting her head against the bedspread, her whole body shaking with sobs. 

He had never felt comfortable around people this upset, he supposed that was why he enjoyed working in the lab, away from the outside world, and with dead people once he entered the field. He knew it wasn't the right time for his inappropriate jokes or nervous laughter, he had to be strong and come up with something, anything, productive to say. 

He sat down beside her, pulling her head onto his lap, "Cry it out Sara, tell me everything." 

She was quiet for a moment, the only sounds in the room being her shallow breathing and the occasional sob. After a few minutes, she asked shakily, "Where should I begin?" 

"Wherever you want to." Greg replied simply, "When did things start getting bad?" 

Sara looked up at him through glassy eyes, "Which time?" 

"Whichever time you want to talk to me about." Greg replied with, what he hoped to be, an encouraging smile. "The beginning is always a good place to start." 

Sara rolled over to lay on her back, her head still in his lap, "Well, it was raining the night I was born..." 

She paused, waiting for Greg to make a sarcastic comment, but he said nothing. Her expression softened and she wiped the tears from her cheeks, "No witty comments?" 

"If that's where you need to start, I'm in no hurry." Greg replied seriously, shifting so they were both laying on the bed, causing Sara to change positions. He laid his head on her pillow, and she used her elbow to prop her head against Greg's stomach, looking up at him with a sad smile. He stroked her hair gently, "I was serious when I told you I was a good listener." 

Sara sighed, tracing the bedspread pattern with her index finger, "When I was growing up, I had one older brother. His name was Timothy, we called him Timmy. He was a real troublemaker, always getting into trouble over something. My parents had owned a bed and breakfast for awhile, but while I was still young, they went bankrupt and had to sell. My Mom got a job in a nearby grocery store, and my Dad got a job as a mechanic. I was 6 or 7, I don't really remember, when they lost the B&B. We moved into this little three bedroom house, and everything changed. Everyone was tense all of the time, my Dad started drinking, Timmy started really acting out in school. I was a good kid, smart and well-behaved, except I was also sassy and talkative." 

She sighed, looking briefly at Greg before back down at the bedspread, "Timmy was doing things to intentionally make Mom and Dad angry, I think he liked the attention, whether it was good or bad. When we were good, they ignored us, at least when we were in trouble someone was taking the time to notice us. After a few months, Dad quit his job and started doing drugs. The more he would smoke and drink, the more of a jerk he became. He would hit my Mom, throw stuff around the house, yell and scream for no reason. We could just look at him the wrong way and he would flip out and rant for hours." 

She was quiet for a few minutes, the slight tremble in her voice growing with every word she spoke, "We were used to his outbursts, he had always had a short temper. But everything just intensified so much over the next few years, a few slaps turned into a brutal beating, my Mom had to be taken to the hospital more than once, he was just out of control. Timmy had been expelled from school for fighting, and since Mom was at work, Dad had to go pick him up. By the time I came home from school, they were yelling at each other in the living room. My Dad ripped the telephone from the wall and started hitting Timmy with it, over and over again. Timmy had fallen to the floor, he was begging him to stop, he was full of blood, it was coming from his nose, his mouth, his ear, but my Dad was out of control, he couldn't stop." 

Sara stopped, her shoulders shaking with sobs as she buried her head in Greg's shirt, barely able to catch her breath through the heart-wrenching sobs. 

Greg pulled himself back into a sitting position, Sara's head falling onto his lap as they had been sitting earlier. He wasn't sure what to say, or if he should even speak at all, so he quietly stroked her hair, knowing she probably needed a few minutes to regroup before continuing. He felt tears burn his own eyes, knowing that if this was the beginning of the story, things probably got a lot worse until she ended up where she was now. He couldn't imagine seeing his father hit anyone, much less his sibling. His family hadn't been perfect, but under no circumstances were they this bad. 

As he predicted, she began to calm down after a few minutes and she continued shakily, "I didn't know what to do. I wanted to yell for him to stop, I don't think he even realized how bad he was hurting Timmy, but I didn't want him to start hitting me too. I was so scared, I was 13, for God's sake, I didn't know what to do. I thought about calling 911, but he had the phone, so I knew it wasn't an option. I think I started crying..I..I don't remember. But I guess he noticed I was there, because he turned towards me with this hatred and anger in his eyes, and he started yelling at me. Timmy wasn't moving, and I couldn't see if he was breathing, and I was just so scared that he was dead. I dropped everything on the floor and took off out of the house." 

She turned her head to face the wall, suddenly embarrassed to be this open with Greg. She continued softly, "He followed me into the yard, yelling for me to get inside. I guess he noticed that the neighbors had started to stare, because he went back inside. I stopped at the corner and threw up, I was so scared, I couldn't think clearly. I couldn't get the blood out of my mind. I ran all the way to the store my Mom worked at, and she immediately freaked out. I was covered in blood spatter, and I couldn't form any coherent words. She took me home and when we got there, Dad was gone. She went to a neighbor's house to call 911, although we both knew Timmy was dead." 

"Oh Sara, I'm so sorry." Greg whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. "What happened next? Did your father go to jail?" 

Sara shook her head, her body now shaking violently, "My Mom was next door, she had told me to pack up some clothes, we were going to run away from Dad. I heard someone come into my bedroom, and I knew it wasn't my Mom. After living in fear for years, you know when it's Dad in the hall and when it's Mom. He had a gun, he was going to kill me, just like he killed Timmy. He was yelling and screaming at me, now I know he was on something, then I thought he had just gone crazy. Mom came home and stabbed him, over and over again, murdered him so he couldn't murder me. There was blood...everywhere...I don't think I've ever seen that much blood in such a small space. I was put into foster care, my Mom was arrested." 

"Sara, I had no idea...I can't even imagine..." Greg said gently, brushing the tears gently from her cheeks, "That's horrible." 

Sara sighed heavily, sitting up and shakily standing, pacing nervously around the room and biting her lip. She turned back towards her friend, although she didn't meet his eyes, and said softly, "I bounced around from home to home until I graduated from high school and moved to Boston to attend Harvard. I started seeing this guy, Mark. We moved in together at the end of my Freshman year, and we were okay for awhile. He was such a jealous guy, to the point of restricting my phone calls from friends and telling me which classes I could take, only ones he was taking as well. The jealousy turned into arguments, then an occasional slap or punch. By my Senior year, it got to the point where we had security called to our apartment at least once a month. And then I got pregnant, and you know how that ended." 

"Yeah." Greg murmured, standing and walking to where she stood, rubbing her arms gently as he pulled her into a hug, "I had no idea you had such a rough childhood." 

Sara shrugged, pulling away and facing the wall once again, "I don't normally go around broadcasting it." She paused for a moment, trying to regain control of her emotions. After a few minutes, she continued, her voice a lot calmer, "I moved to San Francisco after I graduated and got a job with San Fran CSI. I was a Level One CSI, probably out in the field as long as you have been, and I was attacked at a crime scene, a suspect came back and nearly raped me. My partner shot and killed him, and he went through hell with IA. I started looking for work outside of San Francisco and a year or so later, I ended up here." 

"And fell in love with Grissom?" Greg asked, moving back as she resumed her position on the bed, resting her elbow and head on his stomach once more. 

Sara nodded sadly, "I had met him in San Francisco at a forensics conference, he was talking about insects, obviously, and I was just utterly captivated by his speeches and demonstrations. I told him I was thinking of moving, and I guess he remembered about that conversation a few months later once Holly Gribbs had been shot. It wasn't love, as much as it was hero-worship, I think. He was my idol, I had read up on him before, while I was still in Boston, and had really studied up on him once he spoke at that conference. I don't know...it made me feel special to think he hand picked me to work with him. It sounds stupid, I know, but it was the most honoring thing I had ever been told." 

"Grissom's a great guy to work for. He really had a lot of confidence in you, to bring you in like that. I don't think it sounds stupid at all, we all work hard to impress him, we all hold a lot of respect for him." 

Sara laughed bitterly, resting her head flat against his stomach to stare at the ceiling, "I guess I took it a little too far, I misread some signals I thought he was sending me while I was dating Hank, and I thought he was interested. I asked him out and he turned me down, and it really upset me. I sort of pulled away from him, from everyone, and tried to do my own thing, I was so embarrassed that I asked him out, and that he turned me down. Not long after that, Nick and I were trying out for that promotion, and he recommended Nick instead of me. I know Nicky is qualified, but I couldn't help but feel he let our personal relationship-or lack thereof-influence his decision. Then I got pulled over for a DUI. It was a really low point, but I managed to pull through." 

"And then you got pregnant." Greg said softly, reaching out to her once again and squeezing her hand, "It's just been a constant struggle, hasn't it?" 

Sara nodded sadly, moving to lay beside him, her face facing his, both on their sides, "Sometimes I feel so stupid, like I'm overreacting, but other times I just feel like I'm drowning and no one's reaching out to help. Am I never supposed to feel happy? I can't remember the last time I laughed just because I was happy. I can't remember the last time I've had a good time. I can't remember the last time I've felt relaxed. Is it supposed to be like that?" 

"No." Greg replied, moving closer to Sara and wrapping an arm around her as she started to sob again. "It's not supposed to be like that, not at all. But you're not alone, okay? I'll help you get through this, and you'll be happy again. You just have to let me help." 

Sara nodded, her body still shaking with sobs, his shirt growing wet with tears. Greg kept his arms around her, his mind processing everything she had just told him, wondering how he had never known any of this before, wondering how she had kept this bottled up for so long. 

He had never seen her look so defeated, so exhausted. He knew she had reached the end of her rope, and now she needed someone to pull her back from the dark side, back to the side that contained hope, life. He gently stroked her back, listening as her sobs turned into sighs and hiccups, then to quiet, even breathing as she fell asleep. He wasn't surprised, reliving such an emotional experience was tiring to a body, his own eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Eventually, he was lulled to sleep by her rhythmic breathing, Sara still cradled in his arms. 

_TBC_


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, but if I did, I'd loan them out to you guys... 

**Author's Notes:** Sorry it took so long for the update, it's been a really, really, really long week at work, I've been pulling 17-19 hour shifts all week, and I only had a chance to write this during my short break earlier. If it's shorter than normal, I'm sorry, and if it sucks, I'm even sorrier. I'll admit that I didn't even proofread it. The ideas have been bouncing around in my head for a week now, and I had to jot them down before I forgot them. I do hope you enjoy it though, and I would LOVE a few replies. 

For those of you who read Denial, I should have a new chapter out tomorrow or Friday. Would it be wrong to call in sick and leave my acting supervisor alone tomorrow? 

_Jenny_

**Nine:**

Greg awoke with a start, his heart pounding wildly as he tried to figure out where he was. The events of the previous night started to flood his memory, and looking down at the sleeping woman in his arms, he realized he was still at Sara's, still in her bed. 

He had been shocked at the events she had told him about, he had no idea how much she had gone through, and the story gave him a stronger sense of respect for her than he already had. 

He contemplated sneaking out of her bed and trying to get some more sleep in the living room, but he felt so damn comfortable cradling her in his arms that he decided to remain as he was. If things were awkward in the morning, they'd have to deal with it then. 

Just a few short minutes later, his own breathing soothed by her rhythmic breathing, he fell back asleep, vaguely aware that this was the most rested he had felt in weeks. 

_"Sleep my child, let peace attend thee, all through the night. Guardian angels, God will send thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are keeping, Hill and dale in slumber sleeping, I my loved ones watch am keeping, all through the night." Sara sang softly, stroking Katie's hair gently as the child's eyes closed for a few moments, then sleepily opened again. _

_"Again, Mama." Katie said with a tired yawn, rolling onto her side and gazing at Sara with innocent eyes, "Again."_

_Sara stifled a yawn of her own, trying to remember another lullaby to sing, excluding the thirteen that had already been sung tonight. "Why don't you try and go to sleep for now? If you can't sleep, then I'll sing you another one."_

_Katie shook her head, too tired to even lift her head, "Stay."_

_"Katie, love, Mommy's got to go to get ready for work. Please go to sleep, honey. I'll come back and check on you, I'll even put Elmo's World on for you to watch until you fall asleep."_

_Katie's lip hung in a pout for a few moments, but turned into a smile as the familiar theme song music started to play over the television. She rolled onto her side, her Dora the Explorer blanket falling to the floor to reveal her ballerina-theme pink pajama pants and pink t-shirt. Sara walked back over to the bed, picking up the blanket and covering Katie once more, handing her the worn out teddy bear that the child always seemed to possess. _

_"Good night, Love."_

_"Night-night, Mommy." Katie replied sleepily, her eyelids falling shut once more as she managed to sleepily blow a kiss in her mother's direction. _

_Sara walked into the living room with a sigh, falling back onto the couch and shutting her eyes. As if putting Katie to bed wasn't tiring enough, having to do it twice, because the ringing phone woke the child up, was exhausting. At least the first time, Katie had been fed and changed, and was tired, but not too tired to cooperate. All it had taken was two half-hour videos and a handful of times Sara had to go place the child back in bed. After the first hour of television and arguing was over, Sara resorted to letting the child fall asleep where she pleased, which, in tonight's case, had been on top of two pillows, on the floor next to her bed. The second time was always so much harder. _

_A noise alerted Sara to another presence in the apartment. She couldn't make out exactly what the noise was, but she knew it wasn't a sound she normally heard on Katie's Elmo video. The shrill scream and wail was the noise that brought Sara to her feet, though, her feet loudly slapping the floor as she burst through the door of her daughter's bedroom. _

_He was dressed completely in black, and held a knife against Katie's struggling form. "Make one move and the kid gets it."_

_"Let her go!" Sara shrieked, hysteria bubbling up inside of her, her body shaking, "Let her go! She's just a baby."_

_"She's going to pay. Everyone's going to pay."_

_The knife made contact, and the room was instantly covered in blood spatter, the smell filling Sara's nostrils and causing her to gag instinctively. The only sounds heard were Katie's slowly fading ones, Sara's shrill ones, and the sound of metal hitting flesh. _

_Instantly, Sara was transported to the bedroom she grew up in, ballerina posters replaced with anatomy posters and enlarged periodic tables. The colorful Dora blanket was replaced with a brown, yellow, and orange afghan made by her grandmother, laying on top of white sheets, which **must** be pulled completely straight every day. _

_The sounds were still the same, Sara's shrill screams, the squish of flesh being punctured. The smell of blood was the same. The fear was the same. Except now Sara was barely a teenager, and instead of her daughter laying on the floor, bloody and unrecognizable, it was her father. Instead of a masked intruder holding the weapon, her mother stood with a glazed expression, knife still in hand. _

_"Sara."_

_She was back in her apartment. Sara refused to look at the man, her eyes fixated on her daughter. Katie laid motionless on the cold floor, the room around her slowly disappearing, until the only picture visible was Katie, in a pool of blood, surrounded by blackness. _

_"Sara, you're dreaming, wake up."_

_She couldn't be dreaming, Katie was there, right in front of her! She was bleeding to death, if she wasn't dead already, and Sara was unable to help in any way. She couldn't get her body to move like her mind wanted it to, although she knew she needed to do something. _

_She called out for help, crying that she couldn't get to her baby. The guilt and self-hatred was now overpowering the fear that had resided in her chest. Suddenly, the world began to shake, and the more it shook, the farther away Katie became. Suddenly, everything was gone and she was being forced through a tunnel, a bright light on the other end. _

"Sara, wake up!" Greg said forcefully, grabbing Sara by her shoulders and shaking her violently, his previous attempts to wake her up unsuccessful. He had awoken to find her thrashing beside him, moaning, then screaming in her sleep about her baby, her father, her mother. Her skin was bathed in sweat, her breathing shallow. He knew she had to wake up, and fast, although he was having a hard time getting her to cooperate. 

She jolted awake, panting for breath and pulling away from Greg, trying to decide if the nausea was able to be contained, or if she needed to sprint for the bathroom as she usually did after these dreams. 

She was embarrassed, there was no way around that, no point in trying to deny it. Sure, Greg had seen her at what could have possibly been her worst earlier while she was reliving her past to him, but for him to witness one of her haunting nightmares? She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her alive. 

She looked down at her bedspread, trying to stop her hands from shaking, and refusing to meet Greg's eyes. She knew he would never judge her, he wasn't that type of person, but around him she felt so self-conscious. Her eyes darted to her bottle of anti-depressants, and she fought the overwhelming urge to open the bottle and take them all, instead, she ran her fingers through her hair with a sigh and tried to remember which number she had counted to before stopping the night before. 

Greg studied Sara carefully, noticing the tremor in her hands, the flush creeping in over her pale cheeks, the way her eyes never quite met his. He knew she was embarrassed, he would be too if she had been present during one of his nightmares, which were never about children, mostly about aliens abducting him or a gigantic spider biting him and killing him from the sheer amount of poison in its fangs. He couldn't imagine having to wake up from something quite that serious with a co-worker, someone you could only recently call a friend, laying next to you, witnessing everything. 

He was honestly afraid for her. She had been so distant since her miscarriage, and even a fool could see she was going rapidly downhill. She had lost it at a crime scene, she was popping anti-depressants like candy, when she normally wouldn't even take an aspirin, she hadn't been eating or sleeping properly, she was losing weight, losing her passion. And with the nightmares that he knew were more likely than not a regular occurrence, he wasn't surprised. 

He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently with her head against his chest, "Sara, hon, it's okay. You don't have to be tough for me, you don't have to be ashamed, we all have bad dreams." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, she pulled away, still not meeting his eyes, and replied, "I'm okay, really. Go back to sleep, Greg." 

She laid back against her pillow, rolling to where her back was facing Greg. As hard as she tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes, they still rolled down her cheeks through closed lids, her body obviously shaking, despite her feigned desire for sleep. 

Greg decided not to push the issue, and instead wrapped an arm around her, pressing his body against her back, his head resting against hers, fighting his own tears as he tried to think of a way to make her open up to him. 

Then again, when could anyone make Sara Sidle do anything? It was a hard task, but someone had to try it. 

After nearly an hour of listening to her shuddering breaths and holding her trembling body, she fell back asleep, but Greg was unable to do the same. His mind flashed back to all of the things she had told him about her childhood, about her nightmares, about her depression. He had no idea she had been through so much, and he was surprised she turned out as normal as she had. It showed how strong she was, how resilient she was. He had never been so proud of her in all of the years he had known her. 

His eyes darted down to her sleeping form as she let out a soft sigh in her sleep, and was relieved to see a small smile on her lips. He had never been so terrified as he was when he heard her pleading screams earlier. It was the first time he had ever been around someone having a nightmare, a night terror, as he learned about in high school psychology, and it scared the heck out of him to see her so panicked and oblivious to his presence. Her screams would be one of the things that haunted his own dreams until the day he died, right up there with some of the more gruesome things he had seen and heard since working for CSI. 

He let his mind wander to what would happen if the shifts hadn't been split and they hadn't found him a replacement in the lab. Would Nick or Warrick know to keep an eye on her? Would he have been any help, even if they weren't constantly paired with each other out in the field? Would he have noticed something was wrong when she brought him samples to analyze? Would she have been willing to ask Catherine, Warrick, Nick, or Grissom to bring her to the emergency room or divulge any of her hidden secrets? Would she let any of them lay beside her in her bed? Would she have cried in front of, and to, any of them? 

He suddenly felt a wave of sadness wash through him, and had to hold back tears that suddenly filled his eyes. Any small change of events leading to this point could have drastically changed the ending. He wasn't stupid, he could see the desperate look in her eyes from time to time. He hadn't been the most popular kid when he was growing up, and there were several times from the time he started high school until just a year or so ago that he thought about taking his life, just to end the misery he felt from being alone. He could see the anxiety he had felt mirrored in her expression, he could pick up on her double meanings, ones she didn't even know she was using, he could see it in her body language, he could hear the difference when she spoke. What if she didn't have someone to confide in? Would she take the final step? Would she have something, or someone, to hold her back and reassure her that things always got better? 

He was still lost in thought when she shifted and rolled over to face him, mumbling something incoherently in her sleep. It wasn't until he felt her warm breath against his chest that he realized she had moved. His worry began to transform to embarrassment of his own. Should he loathe himself for the slight rise in his boxers when her brown hair tickled his chest? Should he feel guilty for wishing she was a little closer to him, for wishing her hand would slide from his stomach down a bit? Should he hate himself for wanting to do nothing but kiss her? 

When did he start to feel this way, and how could it sneak up on him without him even knowing it? As the pressure inside of his boxers began to slightly escalate, he knew he wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon, and if he wasn't careful, he'd be going him with a severe pain in his sensitive areas. 

Taking a deep, calming breath, he tried to focus on the task at hand, which was caring for his good friend, Sara. Good friend, not girlfriend. He shut his eyes, hoping that he'd be able to fall asleep, and at the same time, dreading it in case he said something while asleep that would endanger their friendship. 

_Sara reached for the washrag, which had gotten lodged in the opening of one of Katie's many bath toys. She poured a little soap onto it, lathering it up as much as she could while trying to keep Katie sitting still. A small replica of Noah's ark floated out of the child's grasp and she whined, reaching for it with a frown. Sara pushed it back towards her daughter, along with a few of the animals that were supposed to fit inside of it, and began to wash Katie's back. _

_"El-ant." Katie babbled happily, placing the elephant into the boat. "Un-key."_

_"Right, that's a monkey." Sara said with a proud smile, "And an elephant. What else do you have?"_

_"Boat." Katie said with wide smile, revealing her tiny teeth, "Row, row, row your boat." she said in a high pitched voice she used for 'singing'. _

_Sara rinsed the soap off of Katie's back, and grabbed her arm, running the washrag over it quickly, knowing Katie would get fussy if her arm was detained too long. _

_Suddenly, the room changed drastically. The ark with the toys were floating on the opposite side of the bathtub, tiny bubbles reaching the surface of the water, which was slamming against the sides of the tub wildly. _

_Tiny feet were kicking as hard as they could, garbled screams being blocked out by the splashing water and the hand covering the child's mouth and holding her under. _

_Sara watched in horror as her daughter's body went limp, the water slowly starting to calm down. She looked down at the hands, which were still firmly planted on Katie's face and stomach, shocked to see the dark red sleeves black with water. Her eyes widened as she realized she had been wearing a dark red shirt. She frantically looked down for her hands, only to find they were the ones that had been forcing Katie into the warm bath water. _

_Her mother's voice entered her head, and although her mother had never said the words before, they came out in her even, calm tone, "I am a part of you, Sara. Your father is a part of you. You were born to self-destruct, it's inevitable. You will not have children, we are not able to raise them. You will not be in love, we are unable to fulfill their needs. You will be alone, for if you aren't, you will demolish everyone around you. You are a ticking time bomb, Sara, do what is best for everyone and stay far away. You will only hurt them. Haven't you done enough damage already?"_

Sara awoke with a start, her heart beating wildly, her breath caught in her throat. The disgust, fear, and panic she had felt in the dream still present in her conscious form. Her body was once again drenched in a cold sweat, her head throbbing with a stabbing pain, unable to catch her breath. 

As Greg stirred beside her from her sudden movement, she felt the now-familiar wave of nausea pass through her, and as her mouth watered in an urgent warning, she stumbled quickly out of bed and into her bathroom, her whole body trembling from the vividness of her dream, the thought that she could actually do that to anyone, especially her own child, even if it wasn't real. 

Once she was finished being sick, she only had enough energy to lean back against the wall, covering her face with her hands as she began to sob loudly, her body in physical pain from the intense emotions pumping through her veins. 

She didn't even notice as Greg lifted her into his arms and brought her back to her room, holding her tightly as he searched for the right words to say to calm her down. As she felt the pain of her dream, along with the pain of reliving her past, she also felt a wave of guilt wash through her as she realized what an awful position she was putting Greg in, she could hear the pain in his voice, see the haunted look in his eyes. Her mother's voice had been right, she was going to destroy him because she cared for him. She couldn't let that happen. 

And using the last ounce of her energy, she pushed herself away from him, desperately trying to avoid looking at the hurt expression in his eyes. 

_TBC_


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer/Author's Notes:** Hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks to all who have been faithfully replying. I'd love to know your opinions, so please submit a review on your way out. Great thanks to Emmithar, for helping me with this chapter and unsticking me where I was stuck, and for giving me insight where I really need it. You rock, girl.

Reviews and positive wishes will get another chapter out by this weekend...

_Jenny_

**Ten:**

Greg paced around the break room, his hands clenched in worry. Sara had kicked him out of her apartment after their last outburst, and he had spent hours trying to call her, but had not gotten an answer soi far. Now, it was 5 minutes before shift was supposed to start, and she hadn't shown up yet. He had assumed she'd call in sick, but Grissom said he hadn't heard from her.

He punched in Sara's number on his cell phone again, sighing worriedly as he paced across the room, the ringing fading into her voice mail after five rings.

"Sara, it's Greg. I'm worried about you, you're not at work and you're not picking up. Please, just let me know you're okay. I'm sorry if I did something to make you mad; I just want to help you." He paused for a moment, hoping that she would pick up, yet knowing that she would not.

He ended the call with a sigh, tossing the phone onto the table, and dropped into a seat, resting his head on the cool surface. He had been worried about Sara all day, and while he was able to control it while in her presence, it had been escalating since she made him leave. Now, not knowing what was going on was driving him closer and closer to insanity himself.

Grissom walked into the break room then, a frown on his face as he realized Sara hadn't shown up yet. He raised his eyebrows at Greg, clearing his throat and pulling out a chair, "Warrick's going to be joining us tonight, since Sophia's still out and Sara hasn't shown up yet. Did she give you any indication whether or not she'd be coming in tonight?"

"She didn't say she wasn't. She usually doesn't miss work." Greg replied with a concerned look in his eyes, "She's not answering her cell, I'm worried about her."

Grissom looked down at Greg's cell phone, then at Greg's fingers, which were restlessly tapping on the table's surface, "Relax Greg, she's not even late yet. Give her a little while, then we'll try calling again. If we don't hear from her within the next hour, one of us can stop by her apartment to check on her."

"She's not doing well, Grissom." Greg said worriedly, his eyes focused on a dark stain that had been on the table for as long as he could remember, "She's not telling me everything, but you can see it in her eyes...she needs help, more help than any of us can give her."

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. After a few moments of silence, he said quietly, yet firmly, "Sara's a strong person, a fighter. She can make it through whatever demons are bothering her; she just does it in her own way."

"I'm just worried that _her way_ will be an entire bottle of Xanex and a fifth of whiskey." Greg muttered quietly, the words exiting his mouth before he could stop them. He stared hard at the table, unwilling to meet Grissom's eyes after that statement.

Grissom stared at Greg, his heart skipping a few beats. Surely, Greg was exaggerating. Sara would never do something to intentionally harm herself. Of course, Greg had spent the most time with her, so if anyone knew of her mental state, it would be him.

There was no denying that emotionally, she had been spiraling downhill for weeks, plummeting to the bottom at warp speed. Was suicide something she would consider? Try? He continued to stare at Greg, silently willing the younger man to meet his gaze. After several long, silent minutes, Greg lifted his tear-filled eyes to meet Grissom's, and Grissom had his answer.

"You head over to her apartment, if anything seems out of the ordinary, call me. If you need a hand, I'll find someone to cover our cases tonight." Grissom barked, the one statement sending Greg instantly to his feet, his blonde-streaked head a blur as he rushed from the room.

* * *

Sara sat on her living room floor, the curtains drawn and the lights turned off. Normally, she kept a beautiful floor lamp lit during the night; it had been a gift from one of her college friends when she was named valedictorian of her graduating class. Tonight, though, no light could be seen flickering from it's black surface.

She was enjoying the silence, the darkness, the feeling of being alive as she sat nervously on her floor. She wasn't scared of being alone, she never had been, but being alone in the quiet darkness had always stirred up trouble for her overactive imagination. A sound that was an everyday occurrence was morphed into a terrifying nightmare once combined with the stillness of the apartment, the fear of the unknown.

She knew she was late for work. She knew she was going to scare Greg to death by having her cell phone turned off. She knew it was unhealthy to be living like this.

She didn't care.

Her overactive imagination created tons of scenarios to flood her mind, each creak in the night a possible intruder, rapist, murderer. Each one made her body twinge with fear, made her heart rate elevate with unwarranted panic. She felt _alive_. The self-induced surge of adrenaline would keep her awake and on her toes. If she was awake, even in a slightly panicked state, she wouldn't be having awful nightmares about her child that didn't even exist. She wouldn't wake up sick and disgusted.

She could hear footsteps leading up to her apartment, and her mind tingled with the prospect of it being a gigantic, armed, dangerous intruder. Perhaps he picked the darkest apartment, knowing it would be the easiest to get into, unnoticed. Perhaps he chose hers because it was closest to the stairwell and had the easiest escape route. _Maybe_ he had been watching her for months and assumed she'd be at work right now. Or maybe he knew she hadn't gone to work and was going to use this moment to not only rob her apartment, but murder her as well.

Would he use a gun or a knife? Would she scream or would she welcome the sweet release of death? Would he hold a gun to her head and force her to have sex with him? Would he just go ahead and kill her first, like she saw so many times with so many of her victims.

The thoughts that were sending her heart racing were interrupted by a familiar voice at the front door, "Sara? Are you in there?"

Greg.

Great.

Just what she needed, another guilt trip, another night of being under his worried eye. More nightmares, more explanations, more questions. She didn't have the energy for this, she would go insane if she had to shut her eyes again and see that precious little child brutally murdered.

The precious little girl with the long brown pigtails. The precious little girl with her ragged, tattered teddy bear. The precious little girl who loved her mother so much that it made Sara want to cry, now, thinking of it. The precious little girl who would never exist.

It was amazing how your dreams could tie to your reality. In her dreams, she had her own set of memories and knowledge of this 'dream Sara' and her 'daughter'. She knew the child's favorite color (green), the child's favorite meal (hot dogs and goldfish crackers), the routines they had established together, what was normal and what was not, everything she would know and remember if the events were taking place in real life.

Once awake, Sara found it hard to shake off this knowledge of her fictional child and their life together. She knew that this alone, was signs of a problem, but it was so nice to hold onto moments with the child, even if they weren't, even if the child's life always ended horribly.

Greg was still knocking on her door, but Sara hadn't made a move to get up yet. She'd let him wait a few more minutes, maybe he'd go away. Shouldn't he be at work anyway? With her not showing up, and Sophia out of town, who would be taking the new cases? The thought of Grissom magically transporting himself from one crime scene to another filled her head, causing her to quietly giggle, unable to contain the smile plastered on her face.

She was really losing it.

"Sara, I know you're there, your car is out front and I can _hear_ you! Open the damn door!"

Sara rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to concentrate on the silence she had so gratefully been enjoying, which was not an easy task with the constant banging on the door. She rolled her neck from side to side, shaking her arm as the cracking that followed her movement sent a tingling sensation from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers.

She knew he wouldn't leave until he saw that she was okay, and Sara was eternally grateful that she had not been crying. She uncrossed her legs, planting her feet on the floor and unsteadily rising to her feet, having to reach out for the coffee table to steady herself as she started to feel dizzy. Her joints creaked and her muscles protested the first few steps, but after she made some progress through the living room, she didn't feel so sore.

She opened the door, the moonlight shining onto her face and causing it to look more pale than it already was, "What are you doing here?"

"You're not at work." Greg said uncertainly, trying to gauge Sara's current temperament. She didn't look as if she'd been crying, which was a good start. She also looked like she had gotten some rest, the dark circles that had been shadowing her eyes for days had reduced quite a bit. He inwardly cringed as he realized he may have disturbed her much needed sleep.

Sara tapped her foot impatiently against her doormat, anxious to get back to the darkness of her apartment, to the solitude that she craved. "Neither are you."

"But Grissom knows I'm here, he doesn't know where you are." Greg pointed out, noticing that her eyes were too alert for him to have disturbed her slumber. He also noticed she was dressed in black pajama pants and a long-sleeved black t-shirt and her hair was washed and brushed. It was as if she started to get ready for work, then just decided to get dressed for bed once more. "You didn't call in, that's unusual for you."

"Sophia never calls in when she's not going to show up, but none of us race over to her apartment. Do you trust her more than you trust me?" Sara questioned, her brown eyes devoid of emotion, "Or do you just think that I'm more irrational than she is."

Greg shrugged uncomfortably, "No one really compares you to Sophia. Or to Catherine, or to anyone else. We just know that you always call in, even if you're going to be 5 minutes late. When no one heard from you, Grissom and I wanted to make sure everything was okay. Obviously, you're fine."

"Obviously."

"Do you want some company?" Greg suggested, already thinking of ways to bribe Nick to work a double so he could stay here and keep an eye on Sara. She was definitely acting strange, a complete opposite of how she had been acting since the miscarriage. As much as Greg wanted to believe she was healing, he found her newest personality much too empty for Sara. He knew she was keeping something from him, he just had to figure out exactly what it was.

Sara's eyes narrowed, and Greg instantly wished he could take his question back. He added meekly, "Or I could just head back to the lab, I'm sure Grissom could use a hand."

"I don't need a babysitter, Greg. It's nice that you're worried, but hovering over me isn't going to do anyone any good. I'll call you, okay? And I'll call Grissom and let him know I'm not coming in. I didn't mean to worry anyone," Sara said cooly, her foot still impatiently tapping, "Can I do anything else for you?"

Greg shook his head, growing more uncomfortable with every second he stood on Sara's doorstep, "No, that's all. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, I should be in tomorrow." Sara replied, stepping back into her apartment and letting the door shut. She knew she could have been a lot nicer to Greg, but she knew that if she showed any emotion towards him, all of her emotions would bubble to the surface, and she couldn't allow herself to have another emotional breakdown tonight. Tonight, she needed the silence.

She sighed heavily, knowing she did need to make the call to Grissom, especially now since she told Greg she would. If the call wasn't made, and Greg found out, he may start to worry again and appear on her doorstep once more.

She turned her cell phone on, dialing Grissom's cell phone as she leaned against her front door. She couldn't talk to him in the living room, her living room was to be saved for her quiet contemplation time.

"_Grissom."_

Sara leaned her head against the door, her energy suddenly drained. Of course, talking to Grissom usually had that effect on her, "Hey, it's me. I don't think I'm going to come in tonight."

"_Are you alright?"_

Sara could hear the mixture of relief and worry in his voice, but she refused to allow herself to feel guilty over it. "I just need some time alone, I should be in tomorrow. I'm sorry I waited so long to call, I must have lost track of time."

"_No problem, Sara, and take all the time you need. If you need anything, please let me know."_

Sara quietly clicked her phone shut, pressing the power button and placing it on the counter as she walked past her kitchen. Taking a few deep breaths, which she hoped would clear her mind, she resumed her position on the living room floor, closing her eyes and once again surrounding herself with silence.

* * *

Greg stood in front of Sara's doorstep for a few minutes, barely able to hear her voice while she told, presumably, Grissom that she wouldn't be in. He waited for a few more minutes, slightly disturbed by the fact that no lights were on in the apartment, from the lamp down to the TV.

There was no denying that he was worried about her, they all were, but tonight it felt more intense than it ever had in the past. Her eyes had been cold and empty, her voice devoid of any emotion. She seemed unfazed by his presence, yet something in her words and demeanor showed she wanted him to go.

Last night, she had reached out to him, she told him horrible details about her life, about her instability, and today it was as if nothing had happened. He knew she was trying to push him away, in her own way, but he couldn't understand why.

He traced her changes back to the last nightmare she had experienced. He could see it had affected her, although she didn't want to talk about it, and since then she had pulled away from him, made him leave, refusing to talk.

Pulling away was something Sara did quite often. She didn't trust many people, and after learning of her past, Greg could see why. What unnerved him the most was that she opened up to him, trusted him, and suddenly took her trust back. He couldn't figure out what he had done to make her change her mind so drastically.

For weeks she had been bouncing back and forth between crying and hysterical to sad and withdrawn. Never had she seemed so cold and detached as she did tonight. He was starting to really worry that she was falling over the edge. If she didn't trust anyone else enough to tell them what had happened to her, would she trust anyone else enough to let them pull her back to this side of sanity? It was clear she didn't want him around, but who would she talk to?

Shaking his head sadly, he turned and started to walk back to his car. Maybe he and Grissom could come up with a way to get Sara to open up to them, to get her some sort of help. It was killing him to see her this way, he didn't want to lose her; he cared for her too much.

Looking up at her dark windows one last time, he said a silent prayer that she would be alright and started his engine, distractedly making his way back to CSI.

* * *

Grissom, Greg, Warrick, and Catherine sat around the break room table, all wearing the same worried looks on their faces.

"Do you think we should call Nick in on this?" Catherine asked, tapping her nails against the table, glancing down at her cell phone, "He and Sara were always pretty friendly."

Greg shook his head, "He doesn't even know about the miscarriage. I think she'd want as few people as possible to know what's going on."

"So let's start with what we know." Grissom said quietly, the grimace of his face showing the first warning signs of a serious migraine to come, "Sara's been going downhill, quickly."

"She was pregnant, she had a miscarriage. It wasn't her first one, and it's causing a lot of old memories to resurface." Greg volunteered, "She probably feels like she failed her baby."

Warrick nodded, "She's been out of it for awhile, mood swings and a hot temper, and then she lost it at that scene a few days ago, with the 11 month old in the suitcase."

"Which was basically a slap in the face to her, someone had a child and didn't want it, as opposed to her wanting one and having it taken from her." Catherine supplied, "She's been taking anti-depressants, but it doesn't seem like they're working."

"Is she still drinking?"

Greg knew the question was directed towards him, but he couldn't meet Grissom's eyes. This very well could be partly his fault. Why didn't he try to get her help sooner? He nodded slowly, "Not binge drinking, but more than once I've stopped by and she's had a few beers. Hell, I've had beers with her a couple of times. I didn't think it was a problem."

"The night I went to check on her, she had drank 3 or 4." Catherine added, "But I snooped while I was there the other day, after I took her home, and I didn't find anything to suggest she's been drinking heavily. I don't think drinking's her problem, it's got to be hard losing a child, she doesn't have anyone to help pull her through this."

Greg's eyes flew to Catherine, his jaw dropping slightly, "I've done everything I could to help pull her through this. Sometimes one friend isn't enough. She's had a shitty life, Cath, and it doesn't ever seem to get any better. I've done all I could."

"She didn't mean to imply you haven't." Warrick said gently, "We should have all been there for her, we should all have been keeping an eye on her. I knew she was off, but I just didn't know it was this bad."

Catherine was now tapping her pencil against the table, an uncontrollable nervous habit of hers, "She's mentioned some things to me that possibly sound like she's been having suicidal thoughts. I don't know how serious they were, and I called her on it, but she just blew me off."

"She's mentioned some things to me too, not directly coming out and saying she'd kill herself, but some offhand comments that sort of point that way." Greg added, "I didn't think she was capable of that...she's always said she could never take a life. I just assumed she meant her own too...but she has been acting very differently lately."

Warrick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "She needs to be seeing a therapist or something. Could we really help her?"

"We can't force her to talk to someone, we're her next best shot." Catherine said softly, "If she lets one of us in, maybe we can convince her to see a therapist."

Greg sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. She had let someone in, him, and somehow he had blown it. If anything happened to her, he knew it would be his fault.

* * *

Sara's eyes snapped open as she let out a terrified shriek, jolted from yet another nightmare. This time she could hear the child's cries as she forced her small head under the water, until eventually the cries and the kicking stopped.

It took her a few moments to remember why she was sleeping on the living room floor instead of her bed, and she instantly started to silently berate herself for allowing her body to go to sleep. The thought of sleep brought back the horrifying nightmare, and she started to panic once more.

Her body began to shake, her head throbbing, her breathing shallow. She felt the familiar wave of nausea and she darted for the bathroom, knowing it was pointless since she hadn't eaten anything to bring up. After sitting on the cool floor for a few minutes, she shakily rose to her feet and walked to her sink, rinsing her face with cold water, trying to suppress the trembling in her hands.

The nightmares were getting more painful, more vivid, and more terrifying with each occurrence, something had to be done.

Still fighting the hysteria that was trying to rise back to the surface, she unsteadily walked back into the living room, her eyes coming to a rest on her gun that was sitting on the coffee table. Coming to a stop she just stared at the object, contemplating the new thoughts that were entering her mind. It was amazing, that something so small could change so much…but could she actually do it? She had done so once, and the thoughts in her mind were beginning to twist and turn, morphing into the unthinkable.

The thoughts in her mind were beginning to twist and turn, morphing into the unthinkable, but in her pain she hardly noticed. The guilt, the sadness, the unrelenting pain that was eating her up was too much, and there was nothing she could do about it…nothing, that was, but this. A few more steps inside the room and she reached over, retrieving the gun, bringing it up to her eye level. After a pause, she brought the gun against her head. All it would take, all she needed to do, was to pull the trigger, and everything would be over. Laughing softly, Sara drew in a deep breath, lowering her head as she closed her eyes one final time.

_TBC_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...if I did, I'd be living in a huge mansion with butlers and drivers, cooks and maids...nope, I'm still on level with the average folk.

**Author's Notes:** Hey guys! Sorry this took so long, things have been going crazy! Last week I went in for minor surgery, to remove some ovarian cysts. It was supposed to be a simple laproscopic procedure, in and out, but it turned into the removal of an entire ovary. Just when I was getting back on my feet from that, I had to go back for emergency surgery to remove the other ovary. Needless to say, I've been knocked out with pain medication and suffering enough to not want to do much of anything, even write. I was supposed to be out of work for 4 to 6 weeks, but here I am, a week later, working my butt off. It's great to be needed, but this was really overkill, ya know?

I'm almost done with this story, and if you want to see how it ends, you'll leave me a reply telling me:-) Yes, I enjoy reading your comments, and I appreciate each and every one of you who leave me a note on your way out. You guys are the best.

Special thanks to Emmithar, who encouraged me to rewrite this twice, lol, although inadvertently (I think). Anyway, if I would have posted my original, you would all be very, very unhappy with me. You probably wouldn't have liked my second draft either. Lol. Anyway, girl, you rock!

_Jenny_

**Eleven:**

Sara's hands shook as she let the gun fall to the floor, unable to pull the trigger. She sank to her knees, bending over and covering her face with her hands as she started to sob. She swore she could never kill, a personal pact that extended to herself as well. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to live, because at this moment she could care less whether she lived or died, but she couldn't do this to her family.

By family, she didn't mean her mother or her grandparents, she meant Greg, Grissom, Nick, Warrick, and even Catherine. They were closer to her than anyone in her biological family had ever been, and were the only ones on this wide planet that even slightly cared whether or not she lived or died.

As the barrel of the gun had been pressed to her throbbing head, she had realized they would be the ones who found her, whether it be because she didn't show up for work and Greg or Grissom became concerned or because the neighbors started to smell her decomposing body through the walls of her apartment. They would be called out, they would see what had become of her, they would have to tear her apartment apart for evidence to make sure no one had murdered her. She couldn't do that to her friends, her family, not after they tried to hard to save her from herself.

As she contemplated Grissom and Greg dusting for prints and looking for any signs of fowl play, she also remembered that most women do not use a gun for suicide. If she did, it would raise red flags in their minds, prolong their acceptance that she was just too weak to survive. She didn't want them to go through that pain, either.

Doc Robbins would lay her on his cold steel table and search her body inch by inch to make sure that the gunshot wound would be her cause of death. He'd check her cold, naked body for signs of rape, trauma. He'd find the many fractures on her legs, arms, and ribs from her rough childhood. He'd see the signs of past abuse, and would be required to tell the others. Of course, Greg already knew. She told him about her hellish childhood, but the others would be surprised. They'd feel guilty for not knowing, they'd realize why she reacted to come cases as emotionally as she did.

Someone would notify her mother, in the women's penitentiary or perhaps the foster family who had finished raising her. Her next of kin had, actually, been Grissom. When she had arrived in Las Vegas, she didn't know who else to put. Perhaps he'd feel honored that she thought that highly of him, perhaps he would be upset that she had never told him. They would have a small service, her team would attend. Brass would definitely attend, perhaps Ecklie would find it in his cold heart to make an appearance. They would probably be upset by her death.

Someone would have to clean the blood from her apartment walls, brain matter from the floor, the walls, the sofa, the window. She couldn't do that to the people she loved. If she was going to take the final step, she had to find a better way.

Sara knelt on the floor, doubled over with agonizing emotional pain for nearly an hour, until a persistent knocking on the door broke her from her unrelenting sea of pain. She made no move to answer it, she couldn't find the strength to move, the desire to see or speak to anyone who would be coming by.

She tried to stop her cries, fearful that someone would hear and know she was home, but was unable to focus on the task through the unbearable heartache. Somewhere through the fog surrounding her mind, she heard a familiar voice, although she wasn't quite sure who it belonged to. Two hands were trying to pull her to her feet, but she resisted the assistance and began to sob harder, her breathing coming in shallow gasps as she fought to maintain her sanity, which was drifting farther and farther away.

The same to hands were reaching out for her again, and she fought back this time with words, quiet and desperate, although she intended them to be angry and firm. "Leave me alone! I don't need your help!"

"I think you do, Sara. You need to let somebody help you."

The voice sounded far away, and Sara chose to ignore it, unable to break away from her painful thoughts and ideas. In the back of her mind, she knew there was something she needed to do, some reason this person should not be in her home, but she was unable to remember what it was she was ashamed of.

By the time she remembered what it was, the person in her apartment had already spotted it, "Sara Sidle! Why the hell is your gun out? What were you doing? What are you thinking? Are you insane?"

Was she? She was beginning to think so. She was still unsure of who the other presence was, but she did know she didn't want to be a disappointment, and the voice did sound very disappointed. She sobbed harder, weak and lightheaded from her sporadic, shallow breathing, unable to make herself stop, although she wanted to do badly.

"I'm going to be right back, you need to go to the hospital." The voice said, starting to sound nervous and worried.

Sara managed to yell "No!" quite forcefully, scrambling wildly to try and control her crying. The hospital was the last thing she needed right now, then everyone would know.

She wasn't sure if the other person did call 911, but she assumed not as time passed on and the only sounds in the apartment were her own hysterical sobs. The voice had tried to reach out to Sara several more times before giving up and pacing angrily around the room trying to think of what to do. Sara was still doubled over, her body wracked with sobs, but she could hear the steady clop of the other person's shoes as they hit the tile floor. The repetitive sound began to calm her down, and soon after, her tears were beginning to slow and her sobs were now shallow breaths and moans as her lungs tried to fill with oxygen and her body slowly calmed down.

Her eyes were swollen and burning, her face wet with tears. She felt like she was going to collapse from exhaustion at any given moment, her body worn from the emotional display. This time, when the hands reached out to her, she allowed herself to be lifted and led to her bedroom. She collapsed on her bed, rolling onto her side and hugging her pillow tightly. She wanted to be left alone to try and decide what she should do next. She was embarrassed that someone had seen her like this, afraid that the other person would piece the details together and have her admitted under suicide watch. She was afraid that if that happened, she'd lose her job, her apartment, everything that she hadn't lost already.

After she had finally calmed down, nearly asleep as her body decided it was too weak to go on for now, she recognized the voice who had been whispering soothingly to her since her emotional tirade had stopped.

She was shocked by the sincerity and worry of the voice, by the worried gesture, by the obvious concern. As Sara drifted asleep, she was relieved she didn't pull the trigger after all, maybe someone did care.

* * *

Catherine paced nervously around Sara's living room, growing more and more agitated with the ringing on the other end of her phone.

It seemed as if all she could do was anxiously pace around Sara's apartment, nothing else seemed to be doing any good. Sara was obviously on the verge of losing it, and she sure as hell wasn't the right person to be handling the overly emotional woman. This was definitely a job for someone Sara trusted, but neither Greg nor Grissom were answering their cell phones.

She resisted the urge to go check on Sara once more, even though she knew she had just checked on the sleeping woman moments earlier. While her head was telling her that nothing could happen to Sara in her sleep, her heart continued to ache with worry and sadness for her friend.

She had heard Sara's cries, had seen the gun, had watched as her friend was reduced to a wheezing, sobbing, puddle of tears on the floor. To come in and find this... it wasn't hard to figure out what was on Sara's mind. It was unnerving to know Sara was thinking of suicide, and what even worse was the gripping fear that Sara could actually succeed.

She punched in the numbers to Grissom's cell again, once more getting a message saying he was unavailable. She slammed her phone down on the counter, cursing softly. What good was telling her to stay in contact if they wouldn't answer their damn phones?

She let out a heavy sigh as she bent down and picked up Sara's gun, emptying the bullets into her hand and shoving them in her pocket, putting the gun on top of the cabinet. She knew it was probably a pointless precaution, but she knew that if Sara thought of it once, she may try it again. She rummaged through Sara's cabinets until she found the one with plastic bags, and taking a small sandwich bag, she emptied the bullets into it, placing the bag into her own purse. Her philosophy had always been "Better safe than sorry", especially when it came to her friend's lives.

She wasn't quite sure when she started considering Sara a friend. They had certainly not been friendly when Sara began working in Vegas, their first encounter had been a tense one. They learned to co-exist in a setting that had usually been dominated by males, and as much as Catherine had dreaded another female on her shift, she didn't find it all to different from having another male.

They were never really paired together on cases, and on the select few that they did work in each other's company, they disagreed. Sara had her own way of working a scene, she was working for the pure pleasure of being a CSI, the dedication to the job. On the other hand, Catherine had plans, plans that did not include being just a CSI forever. She was a great CSI, she was skilled in the politics it would take to be a supervisor. She was working not only to get the most out of her career, but to move as high up as she could be. Some people would say she was selling out, being hard on the others while she was lead to prove she was capable. In actuality, however, she just enjoying being the leader. Some people were natural born leaders, Catherine was one of them.

They almost bonded after Sara found out Hank was a two-timer, but a morning in a quiet bar had barely nudged them from "coworkers" to "friendly coworkers". Of course, Eddie's death hadn't helped out much. She had taken a lot of her grief out on Sara, much like Sara was now doing to everyone that crossed her path, and while she knew it was wrong, she hadn't been able to come up with an apology for the younger CSI. After awhile, she forgot about her hurtful words and moved on.

They remained "coworkers". Sure, Sara went out with Warrick or Nick sometimes after work, and sometimes Catherine tagged along, but she never actively sought out the younger woman's company. In her own defense, Sara hadn't really sought out Catherine's either.

Everyone knew Sara had gotten popped for a DUI, although no one ever talked about it. Catherine's heart had gone out to Sara on her short leave of absence, but she never approached her over it. After Sara's return, she seemed to be feeling better, although she was still more withdrawn and quieter than she had been in the past. She had assumed they were friendly, although she wouldn't go to say they were friends.

Then the shifts were split apart. Catherine had found herself thankful that she had gotten to bring Nick and Warrick on her long-awaited journey to management. It was then she found out how much headache came with the job. She had been used to working with a large group of people, where it was rare you couldn't find someone to help you out on a case, to a three person team which was constantly knee-deep in cases.

She had been on edge since her promotion, and then she and Sara had gotten into an argument in the hallway. Both had said some things they probably didn't mean, and as a result, Catherine's seniority had ruled in her favor. It probably would have been okay if Sara hadn't gotten cocky with Ecklie, but Sara was fired up and ready to stomp over anything in her pathway.

She couldn't deny that she was jealous that Grissom had taken off to speak with Sara, and then had taken Sara's side in the issue. She didn't know the whole story, but from what she could tell, the "new" graveyard shift and the "new" swing shift were pulling apart and the loyalty was changing with it. When Greg brought up the fight, Catherine knew that her work family had changed, and worked hard to create the same type of support system with her new shift that she had with her old.

She had tried to stay out of it when Greg and Grissom had been fighting in the hallway over Sara, she had tried to convince herself she didn't care. After all, she couldn't care less when something was going on with one of the day shift CSI's, why should grave be any different?

Needless to say, that idea was out the window. Apparently, she hadn't been the only one greatly impacted by the change, along with many other changes.

As she searched through Sara's apartment, trying to gather up anything that could be easily used as a weapon, she couldn't stop the tears that rolled silently down her cheeks. She couldn't help but feel that if she hadn't alienated herself from her old "family", things wouldn't have gotten this bad. Grissom was as clueless as they came when faced with an emotional crisis. Greg was still a kid, he didn't know how to handle situations as serious as this, he didn't know what to look for, what to do. Nick and Warrick only saw the old team in passing, Catherine rarely volunteered her guys to pull doubles. There hadn't been anyone paying attention to the obviously withdrawn young woman, and Catherine was certain that if she would have been around, she would have noticed. She may not have acted on it, but she would have known.

A shrill scream broke Catherine from her thoughts, and she quickly dumped all of the items she had found into a brown paper bag, setting it down and rushing into Sara's room.

Sara was thrashing around in her bed, tears falling from her closed eyelids, her face red and her body drenched in sweat. Catherine tried to make out what she was mumbling, but Sara was too quiet to understand.

Catherine sat next to her on the bed, shaking her gently, "Sara, wake up, you're dreaming. Wake up!"

Sara continued to thrash around, her mumbles turning into cries for help. Catherine tried to figure out what Sara was dreaming about, hoping it would be some clue to her suicidal behavior, but was unsuccessful. After a few firm shakes, Catherine realized she wasn't going to get very far in her quest to rouse Sara. Pulling her into a sitting position, Catherine gave her a few more firm shakes before pulling her into a tight embrace, hoping to at least soothe the younger woman's pain enough to stop whatever horrible dream she was having.

Sara's eyes shot open and she pulled away from Catherine, still half asleep, scratching at her arms wildly, sobbing hysterically.

"Calm down, Sara. Wake up, it was just a dream." Catherine soothed, reaching out to touch Sara's arm and retreating when the younger woman flinched.

Sara shook her head desperately, "I've got to get it off...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to...I'm so sorry...Katie...No!"

In her fierce attempt to rid herself of her haunting dream, Sara tumbled from the bed onto the floor, where she scrambled to her feet and staggered into the bathroom, still panting heavily and rubbing at her arms. Catherine went to follow her, but stopped when she heard the locking of the bathroom door.

"Sara! Let me in! I just want to help you." Catherine said, her head resting against the door, "Please, Sara, let someone help you."

"I don't need your help! I don't want it! I don't deserve it!" Sara shrieked hysterically, using a hardened sponge to scrub her arms.

She sank to the floor of the bathroom, her knees hitting the cold tile as sobs began to disable her. The dream was so real, she could still see little Katie's blood on her hands, her arms, covering her clothing and face. She could still hear the child's pleading screams as she raised the knife over and over again, spraying innocent blood over every surface of the 'Dora the Explorer' themed bedroom. She could feel the warm, wet feel and the bitter, metallic scent of the blood that had filled the child's bedroom. She had murdered her little girl, in her dream and in reality. She didn't have what it took to keep her safe and healthy. She was a failure to herself and to her child, children.

She stumbled into the shower on wobbly legs, still overpowered by her breathtaking sobs, still trying in vain to get the imagined blood off of her tainted skin. Sinking to the shower floor and curling herself into a tight ball, she allowed the scalding hot water cascade onto her guilt-ridden body, unaware of what was taking place outside of her bathroom door.

_TBC_


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Author's Notes: Sorry for the extended absence of this story, I had the hardest time writing this last chapter. However, I did manage to complete it, and the saga is now complete. Now, if real life would stop interfering, I may actually be able to update my other stories, as well as finished a few shorts I'm working on._

_Special thanks to Emmithar for her brilliance and encouragement when I was hating my writing, lacking creativity, and drowning in the reality of the world around me. _

_This also goes out to my pal, Sam, who I know is reading this and will tease me endlessly tomorrow because of it. Yes, it has a happy ending, sometimes stories do have happy endings. Chin up, sometimes real life can have a fairy tale ending too._

_Thank you to everyone who read this story, and for everyone who has replied. You guys really are the best, I'm glad you enjoyed reading this. Hopefully you'll like my ending! You guys really are the best group of readers out there! _

_Please, as always, let me know what you think. _

_Jenny_

**Chapter Twelve:**

She wasn't sure when he arrived, or even if he was the one to take her out of the shower and get her dressed. She wasn't sure if he had been the one who placed the white bandages on her bleeding arms, if he had slid her a Zoloft or given her a sleeping pill. She didn't even know when, or if, Catherine had left, or if anyone else had came at all.

All she knew was that when she woke up, she was laying in her bed, wearing her favorite pajamas, with bandaged arms. More importantly, she was laying in bed with an arm wrapped tightly around her and a brown and blonde streaked head laying on the pillow next to hers.

As she took a deep breath, intoxicated by the smell of his aftershave, the warmth of his breath, the feel of his arms around her waist, all she could think of was how this had been the first period of sleep in weeks that contained no nightmares.

She was reluctant to move, although she needed to use the restroom terribly. She knew that once she moved, he would wake up, then the questions would start. What she wanted to do was lay here in his arms all day, protected from the world, comforted by his presence, and hide from all of her personal demons. If only those demons weren't inside of her, only if he could protect her from them forever.

The pressure of her bladder was too much to handle, and she gently extracted herself from his grasp, relieved to see the movement hadn't caused him to even stir. She stepped into her bathroom, disgusted by what she saw. Her towel was strewn on the floor, covered in smears of blood, along with two bath sponges that were also covered in blood. The mirror was shattered, the broken pieces still covering the floor and the sink.

Deciding to clean up later, she hurriedly used the bathroom and slipped back into bed, resuming her place in Greg's warm embrace and shutting her eyes once more. Even if she couldn't fall back asleep, she could at least enjoy having him there.

She never would have thought Greg Sanders would be the one to make her feel this way, safe and comforted. From the day she had met him, he had been the one to make her laugh at his corny jokes and roll her eyes at his suggestive comments. He was the silly, upbeat, crazy lab tech who everyone enjoyed, whether they admitted it or not.

She supposed it had always been there, that she was just unable to see it until now. She had felt the attraction when they first started working together, but then he was more of a hyperactive kid, he had grown up a lot over the last few years, especially over the last few months. She never thought it would work, or that it would be anything more serious than flirting, but apparently she was wrong. Greg was actually the first person in her life that she could trust, that wouldn't leave her, that wouldn't betray her.

She wasn't about to tell him she felt this way, those feelings had destroyed her relationship with Grissom, and she couldn't stand it if she lost Greg as well. For now, it would have to be her own little secret.

Nestling herself closer to Greg, she easily managed to fall back asleep.

* * *

Several hours later, Greg's eyes snapped open as his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding wildly.

He gently turned his head to the other side, to see if he had disturbed Sara's rest, letting out a sigh of relief as he watched her chest rise slowly in and out, obviously unaffected by the nightmare that had sent an awful jolt of fear through his body.

He was absolutely certain that he would never forget the events that had taken place the previous night, and was fairly convinced that it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. He had never felt so frightened, so useless, and it was an experience he never wanted to go through again.

Catherine had called him in a panic, telling him that Sara had locked herself in the bathroom an hour earlier and she now couldn't get the younger woman to respond. She then went on to tell him about the gun and Sara's breakdown. Before she could finish recounting the events of the night, Greg had rushed out of the lab and to his car, speeding towards Sara's house.

He arrived to find Catherine in tears, the tension and grief thickening the air of the apartment. He had knocked several times on the bathroom door, pleading with Sara to talk to him, to acknowledge his presence, while Catherine finished relaying the events that had taken place.

Overwhelmed with fear and the consequential adrenaline, Greg had burst through the bathroom door, only to find his best friend sitting nude on the bathroom floor, her skin flushed red, gripping glass from her shattered mirror tightly in her hand. Her arms were covered in lacerations, many of which were still sending small streams of dark red blood down her arm. She seemed unaware of his presence, staring at a spot on the wall which such determination and stillness that Greg was sure he had lost her. After he spent a great deal of time prying the shards of glass from her hands, she finally seemed to realize someone else was in the room with her.

Once their eyes met, she had crumbled into sobs, clinging to him as tightly as she could, her tears seeping through his shirt, her breath hot against his neck. He had instructed Catherine to find some towels to stop the bleeding on her arms, as well as some clothes for Sara to wear. In the meantime, all he could do was hold the sobbing, shivering, broken women in his arms and pray that everything would turn out alright.

Over the next few hours, she had told him all of the secrets she had been keeping from him, from her suicidal thoughts to the awful nightmares she had about murdering her own children. Several hours later, exhausted, yet relieved to have her conscience cleared, she had fallen asleep in his arms.

Sleep hadn't come as easily to Greg. Every time he drifted off, he was plagued with his own nightmares, of arriving too late, of finding Sara with her wrists slit, a bullet in her head. His own heart wept for the torment she had been going through for months now, completely alone, the images she described alone sending chills down his spine.

Any person, plagued with what she had been dealing with, would have reacted the same. He was proud that she felt comfortable enough to open up to him, proud that she was strong enough to not go through with any of those thoughts that had crossed her mind. He had once stated that Sara was the strongest woman he had ever known, and now he was pleased to see she had not let him down.

He couldn't deny that he enjoyed waking up entangled in her arms, laying in her bed, her brown hair tickling the side of his neck, her steady heartbeat pounding in his ears. He relaxed a bit, the nightmare fading as he began to savor the experience.

As soon as he realized he was, in fact, committing the entire experience of waking up in bed with Sara to memory, he felt disgusted with himself. After all she had gone through, they had gone through, how could he be enjoying this morning? What kind of sick pervert did that make him? What kind of friend? Groaning, he pulling himself off of Sara's shoulder and rested his head against the pillow. Filled with shame, he wanted to just leave, but he knew that if he left, it would hurt Sara, which was the last thing he wanted to happen.

It wouldn't hurt her, however, if they woke up a few feet apart. As Greg tried to keep his mind off of the pajama-clad woman beside him, he was extremely aware of her hand, searching for him as she let out a soft whimper.

Not wanting to be one to disappoint, he resumed his position, holding her hand in his own, beginning to wonder if his feelings of comfort were indeed, one sided. All he could be sure of, at this point, was that he wouldn't mind waking up next to Sara Sidle every day.

* * *

The events of the previous night, nor the fact that they woke up early in the afternoon, their bodies tangled together, were not mentioned as the two friends tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

The closest they had come was over lunch, when Greg had asked Sara how she was feeling, and Sara had replied that she was doing much better. Somehow, through silent communication, they had agreed to leave the difficult subjects of the last 24 hours alone until a later time.

The silent pact she shared with Greg, however, was not shared with the rest of the lab. Grissom had been quick to tell her he was surprised to see her present, and that if she needed some time off, she should take it.

Catherine had bombarded her with questions about how she was feeling, if she had thought about counseling, if Greg had been any help, if she needed anything...She only let up when she noticed Sara's demeanor changed from slightly nervous to slightly angry, paired with Greg's stern glare, obviously signaling for her to shut up.

Warrick had been the only tactful one, giving her a tight squeeze on her shoulder and a friendly smile as he walked towards the locker room. Feeling the need to get away from her more obvious coworkers, she followed Warrick, leaving only Greg, Grissom, and Catherine in the break room to discuss what had happened.

"She seems to be doing a lot better today." Catherine observed, "Whatever you did last night seems to be working."

Greg looked down, and Grissom inhaled sharply, "What exactly was it that you did?"

"We talked." Greg said quietly, not wanting to betray Sara's confidence, "There has been several things bothering her, and I let her vent to me about them, she cried for a bit, and I tried my best to help her understand that there are some things in life that she can't control."

Grissom looked at Greg expectantly, "Well?"

"Well, what?" Greg asked sharply, "I'm not going to tell you what she told me, that's between Sara and myself. If she wanted you to know, she would have told you herself."

"We're just worried about her." Catherine said softly, placing her hand on Greg's arm to try and soothe the anger she could see building in his eyes, "We want to make sure she's on the path to recovery. If Ecklie gets wind of this, it's going to be bad for Sara's career."

Greg shook his head, "I can't tell you what she told me, she trusted me with private information. I think she's going to be okay, though. I'm going to try to get her to talk to a counselor, but I'm not going to push her before she's ready to make that step, because I don't want to do anything to push her farther away. I'm not going to be your spy. If you want to ask her something, ask her."

"I did, and she got angry with me." Catherine retorted, "We just want to help."

Greg sighed, "Helping right now would be to let her have some space."

"We gave her space, and she nearly tried to kill herself." Grissom said in an eerily cool voice, "If you think we're just going to stand by and lose one of our own, then you're insane."

Greg's eyes narrowed, his patience growing steadily thinner, "Look, you do what you want, but I'm not going to take part in it. I trust Sara, I think I'm making progress. I won't be your spy, and I won't be your puppet. I care about Sara, I don't want to see her get hurt. Spreading her secrets will only hurt her in the end. The best thing for you to do right now is to just be her friend and let her come to you."

"What has made you the resident psychology expert?" Catherine retorted, "She was having a nervous breakdown last night, you saw her, and now you're going to pretend everything is fine?"

Greg shook his head, "Everything is not fine, but if you'd bother to actually hold a conversation with her, you'd see she's trying to get better. Sometimes you don't need extensive therapy, you just need a friend." Shooting his two superiors a stern glare, he turned around, "If you'll excuse me, I've got somewhere else to be."

* * *

Sara sat down on the bench beside Warrick, sighing heavily as some of the tension she didn't even know she had, began to melt away.

"They don't know better, they just want to help." Warrick offered, hanging up one shirt in his locker and putting on a different one, "Just let what they tell you go in one ear and out the other."

Sara groaned, "It's not that easy, Warrick. I owe it to Catherine, at least, to tell her something. It's just, every time I try to think of something to say, I remember how screwed up I was last night, and how embarrassing it is!"

"Everyone has things they want to pretend never happened. The truth is, it did happen, and she did witness it. Pretending everything is okay won't cover up what she saw, and it will just drive her to dig deeper. Be honest with her, answer her questions, and she'll leave you alone. By putting her off, you're just showing her you have something to hide." Warrick said gently, slipping his boots on, "As crazy as she acts sometimes, she really cares about you. We all do."

"I know," Sara murmured, "And I appreciate it. It's just...I don't know. With Greg, today, it was different. We talked last night, and today we just put it behind us and moved on. I just want to start over again with everyone."

Warrick shrugged, "Then tell that to Catherine. At least you'd be giving her a glimpse as to how you plan on handling this. Besides, with Greg, it's different."

"Different, how?" Sara asked, handing Warrick his CSI jacket, which had fallen to the floor.

Warrick smiled, shutting his locker door and turning to her, "It's always different when you're with the person you really care about."

"What are you talking about?" Sara asked, alarmed. Was she really that transparent?

Warrick shook his head, "Don't play dumb with me, girl. It's written all over your face," Seeing her apprehensive look, he added, "Don't worry, it's all over his, too."

He walked out of the locker room, and Sara sank back onto the bench her body tingling as his words sank in. It was apparent on her face _and_ his face, which could only mean that Greg had some sort of feelings for her as well.

She couldn't decide if she should feel happy or slightly sick with worry, so she settled on a mix of the two, drawing her knees to her chest as she contemplated what would happen if Greg did feel the same sort of affection for her as she did for him.

She looked up when she heard footsteps enter the locker room, hastily wiping tears that had filled her eyes.

"Hey." Greg said softly, sitting next to her on the bench and giving her a soft smile, "You ready to go catch some bad guys?"

"You bet," Sara responded, "What do we have tonight?"

Greg looked down sheepishly, "I didn't stay around long enough to find out. Ready to face the others again?"

"Yeah, I'll have to eventually, anyway, and it's easier to do it with my best friend beside me." Sara replied, standing and stretching, "Do you think Grissom's going to have us work together tonight?"

Greg shrugged, "I'm not sure. I hope so, I'd rather work with you than anyone else," Seeing Sara's uneasy look, he added, "you aren't so strict with on-the-job humor."

"You mean, I don't fuss if you start acting goofy at a crime scene? It's not my place." Sara replied, rolling her eyes, "Grissom, on the other hand, is your boss. It's not advisable to play around in front of him."

Greg wrapped an arm around her purposefully bumping into her, "Honestly? It's great to work with friends. That's why I enjoy working with you."

"And here I was, thinking it was my infinite knowledge." Sara retorted, jabbing him in the side, "Seriously, though, I never thanked you for all that you've done for me."

Greg stopped walking, causing Sara to nearly trip over him as she realized he wasn't moving anymore. Brushing a strand of hair from her face with his thumb, he chose his words carefully, "You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad I was able to help you. I really care for you, Sara."

"I really care for you too." Sara replied softly, her cheeks burning slightly as his thumb lingered for a moment, "I'm really glad you were there for me, it means a lot to me."

Greg smiled nervously at her, leaving his thumb on her cheek, his other fingers gently resting on the base of her neck, "There's no other place I'd rather be."

Sara's lips curved into a slight smile, causing Greg's heart to race and his breathing to slightly accelerate. He had never had this many intense emotions running through his body at one time, feelings he couldn't quite explain or name, feelings that left him breathless and excited.

Before he could weigh the consequences of his actions, he leaned in and met her lips in a soft kiss. The kiss grew deeper, his hand moving to the back of her head as he savored each and every moment. After all, if he had misread her signals, this may be the last chance he ever got to make physical contact with Sara.

They pulled apart after a few moments, both breathless and flushed, an awkward silence filling the air around them. Greg let his hands fall to his sides, nervously toying with the hem of his shirt, "Are you okay? With _this_, I mean? With us?" He asked quickly, forcing out the words in one quick breath, knowing that if he didn't ask now, he would never be able to summon up the courage again.

He wasn't sure if he had been right in taking that sudden action, it wasn't something that he would normally do, but in the moment it had just felt right. She hadn't reacted badly, she seemed to respond to the kiss. She hadn't slapped him across the face and told him to go to hell. It had to have been a good move, right? He felt like an idiot, waiting nervously for an answer like a young teenager would wait for a response from his prom invite.

Her answer though, surprised him more than his actions just moments earlier had done.

"Yeah," She said softly, reaching out to take his hand, "Yeah, I think I am."

**The End**


End file.
